Stahl Nacht
by CrimsonNoble
Summary: Seventh Year fic. Harry's gone for about eight hours over the summer, causing mayhem, panic, and such. Of course, he's not normal when he comes back. How could he be? He's an Ange...
1. Eight Hours

**Stahl Nacht**

A/N: Okay, uhh... This idea's been obssessed with me lately.  
Please excuse any spelling errors, my first time trying to  
use Notepad for anything... Title means Steel Night. Oh, and  
go find Samurai Deeper Kyo. Just do it. Sixth year will be  
revealed through flashbacks and whatnot. Potter ain't gay,  
got it? He's perfectly fine with both sexes. And sex with  
both.

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim toward the ownership of  
Harry Potter, whom belongs to one J.K. Rowling. I do, however  
claim ownership of Ange (which happnens to be French for  
"Angel"), as they are my invention. Note that I'm assuming  
a one hour time difference between Hogwarts and Privet  
Drive.

**_WARNING:_ This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose  
to ignore said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism,  
sadism, sensuality, graphic violence, and harsh language.  
Possible Male/male relationships, or female/female. Ye hast  
been warned.** Should any of the above be objectionable to  
you, there is a back button on your browser, a convienient  
hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter section of the site,  
and a simple right-click will reveal an option for "back", if  
your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users there.

**Spoilers**: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
**Summary:** Seventh Year fiction. Harry's been a bit  
distressed. Sirius's death pushed him somewhat over the edge.  
And that was a year ago. When, over the summer, he vanishes for  
eight hours, seven minutes, twenty-two seconds, it understandably  
concerns several people. Of course, he comes back. But he's  
different. He's doing things Humans can't. Unfortunately for the  
world, no one knows just what an Ange is.

Chapter 1:

_Number Four, Privet Drive. 0723, June 22._  
Harry leaned back against the desk of his room. It wasn't much  
of a room, but it was all he had. He glanced down at his hand,  
through which was dancing a coin. He had very carefully ground  
an edge onto the piece of metal, and was entirely prepared to  
use it. Or not. Whichever came first.

Slowly, with it clenched between his fore- and middle fingers,  
the boy traced several lines across his empty palm. He very  
deliberately ignored the way that the lines traced a word onto  
his flesh in the stark white that accompanied the general pressure.

He sighed, bored already. The room was too damn pale. It needed  
some color. Some darkness. Some light. Blue, he thought. Blue  
would decorate the spartan room well. Red would contrast well  
against it as trim.

Blue he didn't have. Red he had in abundance. The gods of irony  
were surely taunting him. Again. Bloody bastards.

He brought the coin harshly across the back of his hand, drawing  
a red line to cross the still unhealed "I will not tell lies"  
forever engraved in his pale flesh.

He sighed contentedly. He wasn't scared by the way that, instead  
of pain, a nearly sexual gratification swam out of the open wound.  
After all, he'd lived long enough with the Muggle bastards that  
he would have long comitted suicide if he hadn't.

Then again, there was no guarantee that it was the pain that his  
sudden arousal originated from. It could well have been from the  
_action_ of drawing the line. Was there a difference between  
causing pain, and receiving it? Had there ever been? Who could tell?

His fingers froze halfway through a spin of the coin. It slipped  
easily between his motionless fingers, clattering to the floor.  
Slowly the boy stood up, listening to something. Several shaky  
steps took him to his bed, where he stepped onto it.

And so, without fanfare, without trumpeting, without anything,  
Harry Potter vanished from Number Four, Privet Drive, Little  
Whinging, Surrey.  
_Number Four, Privet Drive. 0729, June 22._

-------

_Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts. 1252, June 22._  
The dull roar of conversation was abruptly sliced apart by an  
alarm screaming for attention. Dumbledore, ever regal in his soft  
white beard and platinum hair stood to look at his wall of  
instruments, frowning.

That was... unusual. The alarm was from Proteus. But he was on  
guard duty as Harry's guardian today. That meant that Harry was  
missing... But if that was the case, several other alarms should  
have gone off first. One when someone unidentified, or identified  
as a Death Eater, entered the plot of land of Number 4, Privet  
Drive. One when Harry left.

It was true that Harry was almost at legal age, at which point the  
spell that detected him would no longer work properly...

Oh hell. Harry _was_ of legal age. Possibly not by Wizarding  
standards, but certain spells had a tendency to react by _conception_ date,  
rather than birth.

Dear Merlin! The boy could have been missing for hours! days! Why  
had he picked those particular spells!

As his calmer mind gently reasserted itself, he corrected. Not spells,  
spell. The enchantment to detect people entering was still functioning.  
He had seen it work this summer already.

The postman had been understandably surprised as he was surrounded by  
people in robes, waving bits of wood at him.

Thank Hephaestus that the man had been busy with the mail while they  
had apparated in. That would have been a nightmare. It was strange  
indeed to run into a mailman who knew nothing of the wizarding world.  
Most were, for whatever reason, descended from wizards, if not wizards  
themselves.

"To arms mine brethren! To arms! To arms! One of our own has been snatched  
from the cradle! To arms! To arms!"

That was it. Dumbledore was _seriously_ having second thoughts about  
using an alarm with a degree of sentience.

-------

_Number Four, Privet Drive. 1529, June 22._  
Two men rested in front of the door to the spare bedroom of Number Four.  
One had a head of mixed grey and tawny hair, and crow's feet spreading  
from the corners of his eyes. The other man had his red hair pulled  
back from his head in a ponytail, revealing the dragon tooth earring  
in his left ear.

The man with red hair stood leaning against the door to Potter's room, the  
side of his head resting against the door. The shock of grey hair rested  
on the man's knees, and a muffled sobbing could be heard through his cupped  
hands. There was a spreading puddle of moisture under behind his feet, where  
they rested, his legs pulled in for comfort.

Inside the room, several long bands of yellow warning illusions wiped around  
the walls. It seemed that the wizards hadn't actually entered the room for  
long enough to notice anything. Like the sharpened coin lying just under  
four inches from the edge of the desk.

Abruptly, the sanctity of the room was broken, a person appearing out of thin  
air, his right arm resting on the corresponding knee, his left dangling  
to the elbow, as the rest of the limb was resting in the pocket of his khakis.  
His left leg stuck out, nearly touching the desk. His glossy black hair hung  
down below his eyes, curling somewhat at the ends. His skin, at least, what  
could be seen of his skin, was starkly pale, giving him the appearance of  
an albino.

The person tilted his head back, revealing onyx irises with cobalt pupils.  
Slowly he stood, glancing around a bit before spotting the shine of the coin.  
He snatched it up, his thumb caressing the Eagle on the back, while his  
forefinger stroked the head on the front.

He walked slowly toward the door, his clothing rippling oddly. It was white,  
though that seemed to be more because dye wouldn't adhere to it than out of  
choice considering the digruntled glance he gave it once or twice. Strangely  
enough, it matched the color of his skin, giving the unwary, and probably  
innocent, observer the impression that he was naked.

His shoes made no sound as the moved him across the cold hardwood, despite  
his walk slinging his feet out in curves before placing them on the opposite  
side of his body from the hip they were attached to. At first glance, and  
most likely second and third, they looked like plain worker's boots. Upon  
closer inspection, it would have been revealed that they were actually  
about mid-calf length, and fastened with clasps rather than the traditional  
shoe laces.

The man cocked his head to the side, forcing his hair away from his left ear,  
for all the world looking like he was listening to something.

A single snap echoed through the room, though it was actually several hundred  
so close together that they sounded like one. The man almost collapsed,  
slumping into the wall before standing up again. His fingers seemed to have  
grown slightly longer, and his face put on more flesh. The only change anyone  
untrained could have actually noticed at first glance was his eyes. From onyx  
and cobalt, they twisteded to emerald and black.

He quickly wrenched open the door, and snatched the man who tried to fall in  
with the wood. His left hand clasped the red haired man's mouth shut, and his  
right wrapped around the newcomer's midsection, pinning his arms to his body.

"Hey-o... Charlie? Well, now that's a new one. Hmm... I guess that would make  
the poor sod sniffling out there Remus, now wouldn't it?"

The man's blue eyes stared at the one holding him, and nodded as much as he was  
able in the hold.

"Oops. Wells, if I let you go, you's gonna haveta be silent, okiies?"

Another weak nod.

The man lowered Charlie to the floor, careful to remain soundless as he did so.

"Wells, I is gonna haveta have a little talky with Remy there, so do be silent  
a little longer. Understand?"

Charlie nodded.

The man in white slipped silently from the room, and came to a halt in front of  
Remus, squatting to look him in the hair. He would have prefered a face, but  
whatever. This would do.

He took a short breath before almost screaming, "Hey-o Remy! How's you this fine  
fine day? What, did someone die on me or something? I'll kill them if they dare!"

The man shot to his feet, nearly soiling himself with surprise as he was caught  
unawares by the man in white.

"H-Harry?"

He was rewarded with a splitting of the man's face. "Yep. You expected maybe... S.  
Claus?"

Remus laughed, relaxing slightly. He was terribly aware of the way that he had  
not drawn his wand in response to a possible threat, and more than a little  
freaked by the fact that he had not noticed Charlie's disappearance.

He pressed his body against the wall as Harry stood, uncomfortably close.

"Something wrong?" The quiver in his voice was probably a result of spotting  
the more than slightly predatory look in the boy's eyes.

Harry only had to lean in a few centimeters to press his lips against the  
older man's. He stayed for a moment before pulling back to inspect Remus's  
face.

Shell-shock and revulsion were the easiest ways to describe the look,  
though a couple choice words also came to mind, in a language that would  
not be created for a few years yet.

"Don't swing that way, eh? Damn. And here I was, hoping..."

It didn't sound like he was saying 'that you would', more like 'that  
I'd find someone with enough strength to survive'.

Or rather, it would have sounded that way to someone who had been  
around a sociopath or two. Maybe a serial killer to recognize the  
even more subtle, 'damn, now you have to die' message.

Harry hopped backward, grinning joyously, unfortunately misjudging the  
distance to the stairs, and thus as he landed, with only half his feet  
on the second floor, he made a quick decision. He tilted backward, letting  
himself fall, while arching his back enough that he could bring his arms  
to bear in recovering. It didn't quite work, and he ended up in an  
impromptu handstand, before his feet came down to land squarely on the  
landing.

Remus goggled. It would have taken years for him to learn how to do that,  
with all of his werewolf strength, and Harry, of all people-just a boy!-had  
done it in front of him. Dear Artemis, what had he been doing all year?

It was then that he finally noticed Charlie, as he rolled out of the  
room, clutching feebly at his ribs, twitching with muffled laughter.  
Remus's eyes narrowed darkly as he drew his wand, slowly and omniously.

To have it knocked away by a flying sickle.

"Now now Remy! You know that any magicalness going on here is all my fault,  
righty-o? No magicalness goes on then!"

Remus glared at the seared red mark across his fingers, where the sickle had  
left its mark. Artemis, it burned!

He bent down to retrive his wand, keeping his glare-of-imminent-pain directed  
steadily at the red haired man as he stood.

From the first floor heard the bellowed, "C'mon! Food! Yummy, succulent meat!"

It therefore came as no great shock as he heard the fridge door being more or  
less mangled as it stood between a hungry Harry, and his desired dish.

-

For Kezina-Orion-Siri: Did I forget the OOC warning? Oops. Oh well.  
Alas, this _is_, by and large, acknowledging a few errs, English  
spelling. I have no idea what ye mean by 'busy words', but such is life.


	2. Memory

**Stahl Nacht**

  
A/N: Nothing much. I'm sick out of my mind though... gigigigigigigi!   
Error_Error_!_Blue_Screen_of_Death_!_Error!_Error!  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING:_ This is rated R for a reason. Should you   
choose to ignore said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism,   
sadism, sensuality, graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible   
male/male relationships, or female/female. Ye hast been warned.**   
Should any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back   
button on your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry   
Potter section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an   
option for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac   
users there.  
  
**Spoilers**: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 2:  
  
_Number Four, Privet Drive. 1532, June 22_  
Harry very carefully ignored the drawn wand directed at his foot as he  
ripped into the refrigerator. He reached back with his left hand, and  
waved the men forward blandly.  
  
He was heartily amused, and definitively annoyed by the way the wand   
stayed aimed at his foot, apparently attracting Charlie's attention so  
he stumbled into the table forgetfully.  
  
Harry whirled as he heard the curse begin on the man's lips, and flung  
a piece of ham steak at the open mouth. His aim was good. He was lucky  
though, and that was better. He preformed a hop-skip forward, and   
snatched the wand from the gagging man.  
  
"I SAID no magicalness!" He barked loudly in Charlie's ear, before   
pounding him on the back to get the chunk of meat out of his throat.   
His amusement was not tempered by the odd look Remus was giving him.   
Well, not so much _odd_ as... surprise and suspicion.  
  
So, the man had finally caught on. Took him long enough.  
  
Then again, the Head Asshole had been keeping him away all last year.   
No way to know that Harry had been becoming more and more obsessed   
with death. Not his own, but most certainly everyone around him. He'd   
actually planned out eight different ways to kill anyone he ever saw in the corridors.  
All while failing his classes. Not that anyone needed to know that.   
Especially not this man. The wolf would have gone absolutely berserk.   
Freaking animal instincts.  
  
Harry's arm was caught as he pulled it back for another strike, and he  
feigned confusion.  
  
"Whaaa...?" He drawled slowly.  
  
"Harry," Remus began slowly, "Charlie spit the chunk out nearly twenty   
seconds ago."  
  
Harry flushed brilliantly. Against his pale face, it looked like his   
cheeks were glowing.  
  
Harry the red-cheeked Ange, he sung mentally, had some very shiny   
cheeks...  
  
He was inches away from breaking into a tapdance routine to go along   
with the song before he realized Charlie was... whimpering.  
  
Sexy, he thought excitedly.  
  
"Harry..." The injured man coughed, "Try to keep... from breaking the   
ribs... next time..._please_!" And then he passed out from the   
passion in his last words.  
  
Harry looked at the unconcious man in mock surprise.  
  
Remus looked at the concious Harry in authentic surprise.  
  
Charlie looked at the unsurprised ceiling in blankness.  
  
Harry looked at Remus with mock apology.  
  
Remus looked at Harry with slight annoyance.  
  
Charlie was still staring at the ceiling, which was slowly becoming   
surprised. Ceilings don't do things quickly.  
  
"Weeeell," Harry drawled, "We should, sadly, get ol' Red here some   
medicalness. What say ye, ol' Yeller?"  
  
"What exactly did you do to Harry!" Remus bellowed, utterly convinced   
that the manling in front of him was not the boy he'd known in   
infanthood and since shortly after the boy had become a teen. This was  
not possible. Harry had never been particularly strong. Nor did Harry   
habitually carry sickles with him. Let alone at his relatives. Who   
would have stolen the silver. He could never have become as pale as he  
currently was either. Something to do with ancestry or something.   
Harry's great-great-great-great-great-great... ad naseum, grand-  
something-or-other had cast a spell that prevented defects in the   
family line. It had, amusingly enough, made the man a squib.  
  
Furthermore, Harry had never intentionally hurt anyone in his life.   
Especially someone who might have been his brother.  
  
"Remy, my brother, my father's son, my sister's... uhh... never mind   
that one, my mother's son, my uncle's nephew and whatnot! How could   
you doubt this face?" Harry shrieked mockingly.  
  
Remus's eyes darkened. He could smell the boy's arousal as he'd   
continued hitting the red haired man. His wand leveled at the boy's   
head angrily. "What," he began coldy, "did you do with Harry." It was   
a question, certainly. It just wasn't much of one. More like a threat.  
  
"Silence in the balcony!" Harry exclaimed.  
  
Another thing. Harry didn't say things like that. It was just   
unnatural that he talked to an invisible audience. Almost like he   
thought of the moment as a play. Like a book, or something.  
  
Preposterous! How dare the creature toy with him like this!  
  
"Stu-" He began to shout angrily.  
  
He was interrupted by Harry's unforgiving fist slamming harshly into   
his jaw.  
  
His last sight was cold rage in the Harry's eyes as his head slammed   
into the counter, knocking him into blissful sleep.  
_Number Four, Privet Drive. 1542, June 22._  
  
-------  
  
_Number Four, Privet Drive. 1749, June 22._  
Harry's barely controlled snarl of disgust echoed inside his head as   
he glared at both, still dead-to-the-world, men. That idiot werewolf   
had almost cost him his secrets. There would be some people very   
interested to know how he could have brushed off a stupefication curse   
without even stumbling slightly.  
  
Which was naturally something he couldn't explain. Hell, he didn't   
know how he did it. Not that he particularly cared that someone might   
find out, but he would have been vastly annoyed to face the badgering   
of idiots. Not that it was avoidable anyway. He'd have to suffer it.  
  
Oh well. Time to finish his meal. Pity he couldn't eat the bloody   
wizards.  
  
Remus's groan startled him. Groans in general tended to do that when   
he wasn't currently either torturing or screwing somebody.  
  
He had the brief thought of how funny it would have been to be   
slapping Remus awake, screaming in his face as if panicked. But then,   
that really wouldn't have been in character. He was supposed to be   
playing the surly boy. Something that neither Remus, nor Charlie would   
remember him deviating from, because of the simple story he'd worked   
out, and the blows he had carefully dealt to their heads. Bye-bye,   
memory!  
  
Remus stood, whirling his head about in shock.  
  
Harry nearly tackled him from behind in an enthusiastic embrace.  
  
"I-I-I was s-s-so s-s-scared!" Harry stuttered out. A tone that was   
indistinguishable from real terror. He'd spent enough time under the   
real emotion to be able to mimic it perfectly. "Y-you went b-berserk   
and c-c-cursed Ch-Charlie, th-then you tried to c-curse m-me and I   
ha-had to knock you ou-out..." He bawled loudly.  
  
This was CRITICAL to his plan. He had to make sure that Remus would be   
so surprised that he wouldn't think to question Harry on this. That in  
combination with the blow would insure taht he would not remember the  
actual events. He would be so busy trying to comfort Harry, and take   
care of Charlie, and be off on a guilt trip, that he wouldn't have   
time to think about the story Harry had just fed him.  
  
What twisted webs we weave...  
  
A wild grin split his face even as he buried his head against Remus's   
back, sobbing in a terrified manner.  
_Number Four, Privet Drive. 1756, June 22._  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 1923, June 22._  
Remus stood ashamedly in front of the rest of the order members,   
waiting for their questions.  
  
"So, what happened after Harry exited the room?" He wasn't sure who   
had asked, and he didn't really want to know. He stared at the ground   
as he started to answer.  
  
"Harry came out, and he asked me if someone had died or something. I   
hugged him, and he laughed a bit. Then, as Charlie was starting down   
the stairs, I hit him with a curse. I don't know what it was, but then   
there was a crack, and he fell down.  
  
"Then I turned to Harry, and tried to stupefy him. Before I could do   
it though, he tackled me, and my head hit a wall, knocking me out.   
When I woke up, I was normal again. Harry told me what had happened,   
and we brought Charlie back. Sometime between when I was knocked out   
and Harry dragged me down the stairs, my hand was scratched by a   
silver plated railing. That's why I have the burns..."  
  
Remus felt the hot tears dripping from his eyes, but didn't move to   
wipe them away. It wasn't that he didn't want to, just that he didn't   
feel that he should. He deserved the shame. He was scum.  
  
"Lupin." It was Snape's harsh snarling voice. Nothing like Harry's.   
Nothing like Sirus's barking "I'm mad at you" voice.  
  
More tears.  
  
"Lupin!" Snape's voice bellowed.  
  
Remus sniffed. "W-wh-what?"  
  
Snape sighed in annoyance. "Get out of your self-pitying angst for a   
minute and tell me. Is this what you remember, or what Potter told   
you?"  
  
Remus glared at the man through an eyeful of tears. "If you are   
accusing Harry of doing something so disgustingly Slytherinly, I-I-I!"   
His voice trailed off into an incomprehensible rage.  
  
Snape settled back in his seat, satisfied.  
  
Oh, yes. Potter was most certainly innocent. For all he had against   
the boy, he had never done anything, well, besides being born, that he   
would take as evidence that the child could be a Slytherin. The   
werewolf had a point.  
  
And on the other side of the wall, Harry laughed.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 1927, June 22._  
  
Lady Phoenix Slytherin--Ah-ah-ah! Can't give it away! That would be   
telling!  
  
DraconicalPriest--Yes, point. I have an explination. First off, Harry   
scared Charlie long enough that the first reaction he could get out   
was to laugh as Remus was surprised by Harry. Second, Remus is the   
last Marauder, and he's terrified that he'll be alone if Harry   
vanishes. Love (paternal here) does strange things to a person. Third,   
Harry was actually only in there presence for about twenty-some   
seconds. Fourth, I adressed their further reactions in this chapter.   
^_^  
  
gjfghjgfjsgfjsghkgh--Understood and obeyed.  
  
MarsMoonStar--One must be Joyous, for this day an epiphany has come to   
the world! Paint is the best program for making political cartoons.   
>.>   
Two Minds--Mind One: Naturally I am. Mind Two: Thy question is   
answered, is it not? 


	3. Hunt

**Stahl Nacht**

  
  
A/N: Nothing. Hate Othello.  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine. I also   
claim ownership of whatever else you don't recognize. Ie: Cais.  
  
**_WARNING:_ This is rated R for a reason. Should you   
choose to ignore said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism,   
sadism, sensuality, graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible   
male/male relationships, or female/female. Ye hast been warned.**   
Should any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back   
button on your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry   
Potter section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an   
option for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac   
users there.  
  
**Spoilers**: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 3:  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0554, June 23_  
Harry stood next to Charlie's bed, his hands clenched, tears dripping   
down his face.  
  
Loki, but this was easy. Stupid wizards. No half-decent Ange would   
have fallen for this shit.  
  
A small utterance of pain alerted him to the older man's awakening.  
  
Harry leapt forward, seizing the man around the middle, and gripping   
him tightly. "Cha'!" He squealed. "I was s-so worried! When Remy hit   
you with that curse while you were starting down the steps! I saw you   
hit your head against the landing! I-I-I thought you'd died!"  
  
He fought the urge to kiss the man. No kissing while he was still   
impressionable. Couldn't let the old men get a whiff of Charlie's   
sudden change and become suspicious. Pleasant as seeing the red-head   
on his knees would be...  
  
Not now!  
  
Harry continued gushing wildly over the half-comatose man.  
  
It wasn't until he was forcibly dragged away by a combination of Bill,   
Moody, and the red-haired blue-eyed moron that he slowed his   
outpouring.  
  
Charlie would never realize that Harry had dealt him the damage. He   
would live the rest of his life under the illusion that Remus had   
cursed him. He would never trust the werewolf again. He would never   
so much as face away from the man.  
  
O Loki, what fools these mortals be.  
  
Harry was dumped cermoniously into his bed. There was a certain   
respect to it, one didn't just go around dumping prestigious heros   
into four-posters without some sort of established method! No, that   
was unthinkable! You first had to make sure that they landed on their   
backs, to avoid injury to the more sensitive parts of their bodies,   
and also that you drew the curtains quickly enough that you didn't   
see anything incriminating. Like a tattoo that did not say "I love   
Mom" on their shoulder. Things like that.  
  
Harry stopped crying, and stared stupidly at the curtains.  
  
What was this? They had just... dumped him in his bed? The hell!  
  
They were _humans_! They were not supposed to be uncaring to their own!   
They were supposed to love him! Comfort him! This was not how they   
acted!  
  
Well now. At least he knew. Knew who took the first place.  
  
Well, actually, that was something he'd known for years. He'd kill   
her, if she weren't worse off than dead already.  
  
Not Lestrange, of course. She didn't deserve death. She deserved pain   
beyond pain. Maybe he'd make her immortal just to watch her for   
eternity as she writhed and shrieked in agony.  
  
Fun fun fun.  
  
Oooh! He could transfigure her into a chicken and then send her off to   
the closest butcher! But... that would kill her...  
  
Meh. She'd probably get booooooring after a while. The same damn   
screams over and over and over and over and over and over and over and   
over and over... ad naseum. Fuck, more like ad infinitum.  
  
Maybe he'd just sort of hide her in a cave. Let her scream there for   
eternity. That would be nice.  
  
Sleepy sleepy sleepy...  
  
"Only a werewolf would make me this fridgkin tired." Harry whispered   
quietly. "For now," he bellowed, "sleep!"  
  
And promptly fell asleep.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0723, June 23._  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 2359, June 23._  
Harry peeked out of the four-poster, peering breifly around the room   
before sliding soundlessly out of the curtains. He stretched, feeling   
and hearing the crack of his overly stressed joints releasing their   
tension.  
  
For a long moment he stood, his eyes roaming the room, flickering over   
the shimmer no more than any other space. The action would have been   
suspicious had anyone seen it. The distortion attracted attention,   
even if only on a subconcious level. He should have made some   
reaction.  
  
Fortunately, the rythmic rippling of the distorted area assured him   
that the idiot was sleeping.  
  
Harry stalked toward the window with his peculiar swinging gait, a   
damn impressive achievement, when one considered he was also   
completely silent about it. His clothes, even more disconcerting in   
the moonlight, attempted pathetically to swirl omniously.  
  
He peered over the window, observing the three-story drop to the   
flowerbed. His head cocked to his left for a long moment, before he   
shrugged.  
  
His jump carried him just beyond the flowers, and he landed with a   
muffled, if not silent, sound. He stood, and without glancing back at   
the house, swept away, nearly glowing in the night.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, 0000 June 24_.  
  
-------  
  
_??????. 0030, June 24._  
Harry slid into the clearing. He wasn't exactly sure where he was,   
hell, he didn't know where Grimmauld Place was anyway, but there was   
something here.  
  
Something big. Something hungry. Something angry.  
  
Sounded like fun.  
  
As such, it didn't catch him completely by surprise when it came   
barreling out of the darkness and slammed him into a fairly thick tree  
trunk.  
  
Harry's sharp intake of breath alerted it to the fact that he was _not_   
dead. And yet, the beast had slammed him into a tree at speeds that   
would have slaughtered a fully grown werewolf.  
  
Fear flared in it's mind.  
  
Harry smiled ecstatically. There was a brief hiss, and his eyes   
returned to cobalt and onyx.  
  
The creature attempted to back away, only to find that his throat was   
caught by the boy. It writhed wildly, thrashing about, flailing at him   
with talon and claw.  
  
Harry stared at it, nearly giggling at its pathetic attempts to   
escape. He wanted to play...  
  
Harry flung the beast across the clearing.  
  
And then the clearing echoed with a snap and a drawn out sizzle.  
_??????. 0035, June 24._  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0033, June 24._  
Moody swore. Moreover, he cursed anything that moved. Fesulting in   
the screams of several unfortunate house elves, and the destruction of   
a certain painting.  
  
More disturbing, his magical eye was not rolling in its socket. Not   
that that particular trait was used for anything more than   
intimidation. After all, the eye continously sent a three-sixty degree   
panorama into his brain anyway. It had been the strangest thing, at   
first, but now he couldn't imagine his former life, being only able to   
see around one hundred fifty degrees.  
  
None of which was relevant currently. Mostly he was just pissed that   
Potter had disappeared from underneath the nose of one Mundungus   
Fletcher. The third time in as many years that he'd fucked up on his   
guard duty.  
  
Moody considered letting Potter decide the man's punishment. Not a bad   
idea. A rather good idea, actually.  
  
He shook his head, snarled, and continued stomping around the house.  
  
Surely, surely, Potter hadn't left! But... just in case.  
  
"Nymphadora! Get your pink ass over here!" His bellow made the windows   
flex dangerously.  
  
Within moments he heard her, rushing toward the source of his voice,   
not a difficult thing to find given that he was still roaring.  
  
"Wotcher, Moody!"  
  
He glared with both eyes.  
  
"Sir, auror Nymphadora Tonks reporting for duty, sir!"  
  
"Go. Find Potter. Look outside. Kick his ass for me." And with that,   
he stormed away, cursing more random objects, and swearing at every   
thing else.  
  
Tonks pouted. "Diana, but he's an asshole."  
  
She turned around to storm in the opposite direction, and promplty   
tripped over a scurrying house elf.  
  
Her screams soon agreed with Moody's.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0034, June 24._  
  
-------  
  
_??????. 0037, June 24._  
Harry laughed, his delight lighting his face. The fact that the beast   
had him currently hoisted over its head was inconsequential. He was   
having _fun._  
  
His face flushed lightly as he slammed into one of the higher branches   
in the tree. Automatically he wrapped around it, and then pulled   
himself on top of it.  
  
He stared openly at the beast. It had been... well, a long time since   
something had been able to manipulate him like that.  
  
He laughed again, flexing his hands delicately before leaping off the   
branch to plummet toward the animal.  
  
The creature hissed loudly, and opened its arms to catch the boy.  
  
What it hadn't counted on was his claws. It stared in confusion at the   
gaping hole where it's gut had been moments earlier, and then looked   
up at the man licking his hands clean.  
  
The beast's death scream echoed through the clearing as it flung   
itself one last time at the torturer.  
  
To have it's head ripped from its shoulders by a simple backhand.  
  
Hot blood spurted briefly from the corpse, managing to soak the front   
of Harry's clothes.  
  
He sighed contentedly, before looking upward in preparation for his   
dedication to Loki.  
  
To find another six of the things skittering down several trees.  
  
Dearie me. He seemed to have stumbled on a nest.  
  
Oops.  
  
Harry caught the first one as it attempted to tackle him, and flung it   
into the dirt, intending on stomping on it to finish it off.  
  
Whereupon he was hit from behind and flew into an oak.  
  
Crapitalism, he thought, rather eloquently as he stood. That hadn't   
even made a dent in the tree. Irritating.  
  
Slowly he walked back into the center of the clearing, allowing the   
things to surround him again.  
  
But he couldn't, and wouldn't, just let them attack.  
  
And so, he lunged, spearing the closest beast on his claws, watching   
the blood spill from its lips entranced.  
  
A mistake, as he was caught from behind and flung upward. He started   
to right himself, and stopped. Even over the cacophony of croaks he   
could hear someone approaching.  
  
Well, fuck. How annoying.  
  
Tonks swore vehemently as she stumbled loudly through the forest.   
Who's brill-_fucking_-ant idea had it been to go looking for Potter in   
the middle of the night?  
  
Moody was going to die. Painfully.  
  
She tripped and crashed face first into a tree.  
  
Very painfully, she amended as she rubbed her nose.  
  
Her ears twitched sharply as they caught a loud snapping. Followed by   
a cracking, and then a crash like something hitting the ground.  
  
Ordinarily, she would have minded her own buisness, and gone on. Right   
now, however, homicide was the most important thing on her mind, and   
she darted for the source of the sound.  
  
And promplty tripped over another root, forcing her into an awkward   
roll to enter the treeless area.  
  
She registered shock for a moment, observing Potter being thrown   
around. By three...  
  
What the hell were those?  
  
Then again, she was supposed to find Potter. Here he was.  
  
Now the question was, should she save him, or go report to Moody   
first?  
  
Decisions decisions...  
_??????. 0052, June 24._   
  
Jess16--Poor Remus indeed. Mwuhahahaha...   
  
Two Minds--Continued it is. And continued it will be. Intact, mayhaps,   
but whole, certainly not.  
http://big.freett.com/shanuff/stray.wmv 


	4. Twitch

**Stahl Nacht**

  
  
A/N: I don't know if there's a canon first day of school at Hogwarts.   
Nor do I care.  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine like that.  
  
**_WARNING:_ This is rated R for a reason. Should you   
choose to ignore said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism,   
sadism, sensuality, graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible   
male/male relationships, or female/female. Ye hast been warned.**   
Should any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back   
button on your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry   
Potter section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an   
option for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac   
users there.  
  
**Spoilers**: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
**Chapter 4:**  
  
_??????. 0054, June 24_  
Harry groaned mentally. Stupid, freaking witch! Why couldn't she just   
mind her own damn buisness, and let him get on with his own?  
  
Damn her! And another thing! Why did she have to be so fucking hot?   
She could at least have had the decency to look ugly! Cute at the very   
most!  
  
Well, then again, he couldn't really talk about that.  
  
He sighed as he felt another slash crash into his arm. Damn it, this   
was annoying.  
  
Tonks stared dully up at the raging combatants. An excess of alcohol   
flooding through her blood was busily in the process of making sure   
she didn't stand up.  
  
She pointed her wand at one of the sixteen apparitions surrounding   
Potter, and croaked out a curse.  
  
Unfortunately, in her state of complete inebriation, she failed to   
realize that she was holding her wand in reverse. Consequently, the   
charm intended to disable the beast slammed into her gut.  
  
She moaned and her eyes slid shut.  
  
Harry sighed in relief. Bitch had finally managed to fully   
incapacitate herself. Sexy bitch, he had to amend.  
  
He smiled, and the beasts reacted by attacking even more.  
  
His hands shot out, seizing a random arm, and jerked the body it was   
attached to inward, before cheerfully ramming his hand through its   
chest.  
  
Perversely, the lyrics, "Come on people now, smile on your brother,   
everybody come together, try to love one another right now..." Began   
playing in his head without his permission.  
  
He stepped forward, swinging the corpse around to take the next blow   
for him, laughing as the blood from the bisected body sprayed his   
still-immaculate clothes, only to promplty drip off.  
  
Harry flung the top half of the body at the nearest animal, and   
slipped behind it while it was distracted. It looked up, its   
startlingly humanoid face looking around desperately, before his hand   
exploded from its stomach, dripping blood, bone fragments, and   
digestive juices. It stared disbelievingly for a moment before its   
eyes rolled upward and it collapsed.  
  
Bile splattered the dusty earth as Harry snapped his arm out to clean   
it off.  
  
The stupid beasts rushed him again, though their numbers had, in less   
than a second, dwindled by half.  
  
There was a mixed sound of snapping bone, sizzling flesh, and the   
sharp retort of a firearm going off, followed almost immediately by   
one of the animal's head exploding.  
  
Harry turned his arm toward the second animal, palm out and open. A   
second sizzle-crack and he lowered it. His other hand shot out and he   
ducked into a sideways roll, catching Tonks' wand.  
  
Fifteen inches of ebony were already pointing at the animal as Harry   
came to his feet.  
  
_"Incendio,"_ he hissed, the flames of the burning, screeching   
creature making the onxy-cobalt eyes glitter.  
  
Slowly he turned the wand to Tonks, muttering something as he did so.  
  
As her eyes opened, Tonks was understandably surprised to see only   
Potter in front of her. She was expecting to be back at Grimmauld   
Place already. Instead, she was facing the stupid boy she was supposed   
to be finding.  
  
"Goddess!" Was, unfortunately, the first word out of her mouth. Potter   
was soaked in blood, though the way it was flowing off the stark white   
clothes he wore was more than slightly disorienting.  
  
Her next thought was along the lines of 'Fuck! If he was a girl, he'd   
be damn sexy!'  
  
"Damn you Potter! Why the hell did you make me follow you all the way   
out here into the middle of nowhere?"  
  
As he hauled her to her feet, she attempted to struggle, but all she   
managed was a feeble twitching.  
  
The next sensation she was fully aware of was bark against her back,   
before the sensation of blood soaked lips being pressed against her's   
made itself fully known.  
  
'Is he... izze gonna...' Coherent thought was beyond her current state   
of mind.  
  
"Shit. Not again." It took her several seconds to realize that he was   
speaking, and thus no longer kissing her.  
  
She might have been interested in his following rant, on the subject   
of every even vaguely attractive guy being straight or taken, and   
every attractive girl either being a lesbian or taken, had she not   
chosen that moment to pass out.  
  
Harry stared at her comatose body for several long moments. "And now I   
have to haul you back! Lovely!"  
  
He turned his eyes upward, and drew a rune on his chest. "I dedicate   
these deaths, this blood... to Loki."  
  
And at last, with the taller woman's arm draped across his shoulders,   
he started back toward the vague direction of Grimmauld Place.  
_??????. 0112, June 24._  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0230, June 24._  
Harry snarled viciously. It wasn't so much that he'd been forced to   
come back, as that he'd been forced to carry Tonks back. Furthermore,   
the creature he'd set on fire had started the forest on fire, forcing   
him to grab the woman to _carry_ her out of the fucking woods.  
  
He deposited the drunk Tonks on the porch of Grimmauld Place, glaring   
angrily up at the glowing house. Whoever had sent her would die.   
Painfully.  
  
Bloodily too.  
  
With that resolutiong firmly in mind, he turned and began to walk back   
around the house to where the window to his room was. He slid his   
hands into his pockets to muffle the crack-sizzle, and began to scale   
the wall.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0233, June 24._  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 1204, July 31._  
Harry continued his silent stream of curses as he stalked into the   
shabby building. He'd been forced to carry a shadow along with him   
where ever he went since the day he'd arrived at Number Twelve.  
  
Damn! It was better at the Dursley's! At least there he didn't have to   
worry about anyone giving a fuck about what he did.  
  
His peculiar looping gait had degenerated into a rough feet-never-  
quite-leaving-the-ground stride. Still utterly silent.  
  
He ripped the door to the house open, and was immediately surprised by   
a flash of light in his eyes and a loud bang.  
  
Immediately he ducked into a forward roll, coming up into a crouch,   
already having completed his threat assessment of the occupants of the   
room. Before he'd actually had a chance to identify them, he'd already   
lashed out, catching one directly in the solar plexus.  
  
The man crumpled, and Harry slithered under the body, utterly prepared   
to use the man as a meatshield.  
  
There was dead silence.  
  
Oh. Right. Not a warzone.  
  
"For Loki's sake people!" He roared. "Do attempt to remember that my   
reflexes are, in order, Attack, Disable, Figure out what the hell's   
going on!"  
  
Slowly, a clapping began to echo from the back of the room.  
  
Unsurprisingly, the next words voiced into the sobered room were,   
"_CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_ At least someone here has half a brain!"  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 1206, July 31._  
  
-------  
  
_Platform 9 3/4, King's Cross. 1015, September 1._  
Harry collapsed into the seat of the train, almost comatose.  
Loki... He _needed_ an outlet so badly... To kill... or to   
fuck...   
Something!  
  
He was a wreck. He'd been unable to do any sort of strenous activity,   
the kind that would relieve his tension, for over a bloody month now!   
He would have been afraid he'd fall out of full combat condition, had   
he not known that he couldn't if he didn't want to. No, he was afraid,   
ironically, that he would forget how to use his body.  
  
Fear was indeed irrational.  
  
And it wasn't the safest thing, to live with a twitchy... He _was_  
doing his best, but Loki only knew it was hard. The third time he had   
almost dismembered someone had been just the beginning. Shortly   
thereafter, Mad-Eye had decided to jump out of nowhere to test his   
vigilance.  
  
Moody had come away plus six scars, minus one ear.  
  
But that had been far too easy! Moody of all people should have been   
ready for anything!  
  
On the flip side, he'd been damn lucky the knife had been up his   
sleeve. Otherwise Moody would be dead. Couldn't let anyone know   
about... that.  
  
He needed it... The ultimate state between life and death... to cut or   
be cut at any moment...* He was a fool for the fight.  
  
But hell, he needed to do something. He couldn't remember the last   
time that he had spent so much time inactive.  
  
And he was back to having the desires to blow things up. This time,   
unfortunately, he had his fingernail sized bombs. Enough to destroy...   
Say, half the Express, if he just started throwing them around.  
  
Enough to knock down Hogwarts if there happened to be a localized   
support area. Use one pebble to divert a river and whatnot.  
  
His musings were interrupted by Draco's entrance. Perfect.  
  
"Well, if it isn't the Murderer." The taller boy sneered.  
  
"Well, if it isn't the mentally retarded, ADHD, groveling little 'I   
can't stand up without my daddy's help' boy. Do tell, how did it feel   
when Lucius killed himself in Azkaban?" Harry sneered back.  
  
Draco's face did the most interesting transformation from sneering to   
some color between mauve and violet. Incoherent speeche began to fall   
from his lips, Harry standing up as the boy reached for his wand.  
  
As the Furnuculus curse started to form, Harry belted the boy in the   
jaw to a satisfying crunch. Draco slammed into the door, clearly   
unprepared for the physical assault, and whimpered pathetically as he   
clutched at his broken jaw.  
  
"Kinda hard to cast spells if you can't talk, isn't it boy."  
  
Draco took one look at the short boy standing over him before he wet   
himself and fainted.  
  
Harry sighed. "Well, that was no fun. Guess I'll have to dispose of   
you now..."  
  
He grabbed the boy under the arms, dragged him out the door, and threw   
him onto the mostly empty platform.  
  
Harry stepped back inside, sliding the door shut and then carefully   
setting it off it's hinges so it would be near-impossible to open.  
_Hogwarts Express, King's Cross. 1045, September 1._  
  
Jess16--It isn't erasing the memory. It's making them susceptible to   
the first things they hear upon waking. Which they will in turn   
believe.  
  
*Samurai Deeper Kyo, Volume 5, Page 45.  



	5. Run

**Stahl Nacht**

  
  
CrimsonNoble   
A/N: I's bored. Wanna blow shit up.   
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING:_ This is rated R for a reason. Should you   
choose to ignore said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism,   
sadism, sensuality, graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible   
male/male relationships, or female/female. Ye hast been warned.**   
Should any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back   
button on your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry   
Potter section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an   
option for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac   
users there.  
  
**Spoilers**: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 5:  
  
_Hogsmeade Station. 1620, September 1._  
Harry stepped off the train, wondering somewhere in the back of his   
mind if Draco had made it back on. Crabbe and Goyle being dead   
couldn't have helped him.  
  
Oh, yes. They were dead. A wise man had once said, 'Never believe your   
enemy dead until you meet them in the afterlife.' Fuck that. Holding   
their still beating heart was good enough for him.  
  
His electric-green eyes flickered over the first years dismounting the   
train, heading toward the voice of one Argus Filch.  
  
Poor Hagrid. In a coma since the first years were attacked in the   
middle of the lake last year...  
  
Maybe he should end the man's misery. No, not man. Half-man.  
  
How much blood did he have?  
  
Harry patted a Thestral absentmindedly as he neared the door to the   
carrige he wanted.   
  
"Potter!"  
  
Harry's eyes narrowed for the slightest instant before returning to   
widely innocent.  
  
"What is it, Snape?" He asked blithely.  
  
"Its Professor Snape to you, Potter. Or better yet, since I don't want   
you demeaning my name, 'My Lord and Master'." Snape spat.  
  
"Righty-o then Snape. What is it?"  
  
The man sighed. "Much to my displeasure, I have been given the   
revolting task of making sure you make it to the feast safely. You are   
not to ride in the carriges. Come with me."  
  
"No."  
  
_"What!?"_ The man bellowed.  
  
"No. Do you need me to spell it out for you? N-O. As in denial,   
negative, opposite of yes, you have heard of this, right?" Harry   
defined.  
  
"This is not optional Potter! You are coming with me!" Snape raged.  
  
"Nah. Do not think so." Harry continued his refusal.  
  
Snape drew his wand. "Don't make me do this Potter."  
  
"Then go away Snape."  
  
The man snarled and started, "_Pet-_"  
  
To be interrupted by Potter lashing out, catching his wand hand and   
driving it into the flank of the Thestral.  
  
The wand stabbed into its flesh, and it took off, dragging the carrige   
behind it, the wand still stuck in its body.  
  
Snape glared. "Fifty points for assaulting a teacher, Potter."  
  
"Goody! Gryffindor is fifty points in the lead already!"  
  
"That was minus fifty points, Potter."  
  
"Nuh-uh! You said 'fifty points', not 'minus fifty points'. Thank you   
Snape. Mabye I should **ass**ault you more, should I?"  
  
Snape went a delicate shade of turquoise and brought his hand around   
to slap the impudent child.  
  
To have his wrist caught in a silken grip.  
  
"Let go of me Potter. I think that will be a detention and minus one   
hundred points..."  
  
"Well Professor, seeing as how you were the agressor, and I have," he   
waved his hand toward the students watching, "More than enough   
witnesses to prove it, I think it is safe to assume that should you   
choose to enact that pusnishment, I can get you put on probation..."  
  
Snape glared.  
  
"Of course, that will not be all I do. No, that would be too easy. For   
you, I mean." He lowered his voice so only Snape could hear. "Then   
I will have to disembowl you. And other such unpleasant things."  
  
"Was that a threat Potter?" Snape demanded, his face twisting.  
  
"You know, I think it was. Unless you don't think it was. In which   
case, I suppose you're wrong."  
  
Harry let the man's arm fall, and turned toward another carrige.  
  
"Potter! Why aren't you in your robes?"  
  
"I did not want to be."  
  
"I think that warrants a negative ten points..."  
  
"Whatever gets you off, Snape."  
  
"MINUS ONE-HUNDRED POINTS POTTER!" The man bellowed.  
  
"If it helps you sleep at night to know you have punished someone for   
your own actions, sure. Whatever."  
  
"If you do not come with me, Potter, I will be forced to continue   
taking points from Gryffindor..."  
  
"Too fucking bad term has not started and points cannot be modified   
yet."  
  
Harry continued away from the man.   
  
"I can get you expelled Potter. You should think about that."  
  
"Brilliant, o dear Snape. Expell the boy the world has placed their   
hopes on? Of course! Why not deliver his head on a silver platter to   
Tom yourself? Too much of a coward to take a seventeen year old who   
hasn't even finished schooling yet?"  
  
"I'm warning you Potter."  
  
"You do that. But I am afraid you soon will not have any power. How   
absolutely tragic."  
  
Harry opened the door to the carrige.  
  
"Enter and I will make your life, and your friend's lives hell   
Potter."  
  
"Ah, well. You see, that's a problem. I am no longer in your class.   
As I am sure you well remember."  
  
Snape did. Oh, how he had enjoyed crushing the child's hopes of   
becoming an Auror.  
  
"As such, I have no cause to see you outside of meals. Now, as much as   
I have enjoyed this banter of ours, I must begone."  
  
He stepped into the carrige and slowly shut the door.  
  
Automatically the Thestrals began their climb to the castle.  
_Hogsmeade Station. 1647, September 1._  
  
-------  
  
_Hogwarts. 1700, September 1._  
With the Sorting just finishing, not that he had been paying attention   
to it in the first place, Harry returned to giving a sort of vapid   
glare at the girl on his left.  
  
He actually had no idea who she was, just that she was annoying the   
hell out of him.  
  
He was twitching again. It was as if the slight fix he had recieved   
from punishing Malfoy was already gone.  
  
As such, it was understandable that he nearly flattened the closest   
people when the doors to the Great Hall burst open and a pair of   
Aurors stalked in.  
  
Dumbledore looked surprised. And angry.   
  
"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded threateningly.  
  
"We have orders from the head of our department, headmaster. For the   
arrest of one Harry Potter."  
  
Instant pandemonium ensued, quickly silenced by the nifty wandwork of   
Professor Flitwick.  
  
"On what grounds?" Dumbledore's questioning voice brittle with anger.  
  
The head Auror rolled open a sheet of parchment. "Five accounts of   
murder, one account of destruction of public property, two accounts of   
assault with intent to kill, two accounts of assault on ministry   
employees, one account of self-defense resulting in harm, and one   
account of theft."  
  
Harry was confused. The hell? He hadn't stolen anything... recently,   
at least.  
  
"I refuse to let you take him."  
  
"Then you will be charged with aiding and abetting, headmaster."  
  
"Headmaster... I would like to add that Potter assaulted me earlier   
this very day when you sent me to fetch him."  
  
"Very well, one account of assaulting a civilian shall be added to the   
list of charges."  
  
"I still cannot let you take him."  
  
Harry stood and moved forward.  
  
"I will go Professor. There is nothing to fear, in a court of law   
truth will prevail." Yes, it would. Though it would not be the truth   
Albus Dumbledore hoped for. And it was suitably naive that it was   
something he would say. Would have said. Whatever.  
  
"Thank you, Mister Potter."  
  
Harry held out his wrists, and was promptly shackled by the Aurors,   
before his wand was confiscated and he was lead from the silently   
chaotic hall.  
_Hogwarts. 1722, September 1._  
  
-------  
  
_Courtroom 15, ???. 0430, September 4._  
Harry yawned boredly as he listened to the array of charges against   
him. He was impressed that they had managed to trace his movements to   
the park that had burned by his Incendiary spell, and yet more   
disgusted by the idea that they thought those bodies, those beasts,   
had been people. More than that, he wondered who had talked about his   
assault on Remus. Not that anyone knew the truth of that incident, but   
someone had talked.  
  
His charge of assault on Moody was highly unsurprising. After all, it   
was kind of hard to miss a missing ear. The scars alone would have   
gone unnoticed, but the ear went a bit beyond that. He could only feel   
disgust at the idea of caring enough to attempt to kill Malfoy, of all   
people. Sure, he'd broken the boy's jaw, and that was worth a harmful   
intent charge, but he had put the child in full view of fully   
qualified witches and wizards who could have easily fixed the damage.  
  
Two ministry employees had confused him, but it was not shocking.   
Moody had been called to active duty again, and Tonks had come back   
smothered in blood, unconcious, after following him into a forest that   
had shortly thereafter burned down, in which he had commited five   
accounts of "murder". Not a hard conclusion to get to, espcially   
considering the way her memory was shot to hell when she got smashed.   
Which she was doing more and more now.  
  
The theft, however... it was far beyond him. It was the one charge he   
was completely innocent of, though that wouldn't get him far. He was   
still looking at a total sentence of six or so consecutive life   
sentences in the Labyrinth prison, fifteen years of solitary   
confinement, twenty in a muggle prison, and of course, the fifty pound   
fee for theft. Idiot muggles. He hadn't even been in London at the   
time of the theft!  
  
He quirked an ear at the silence that had descended upon the   
courtroom. "Eh?"  
  
The prosecution lawyer--Rodney, was it?--glared at him. "I asked,   
Mister Potter, if you had anything to say for yourself."  
  
"Oh, yes. Yes, I do. I plead guilty of all charges but theft, seeing   
as I have no idea where the hell you pulled that one out of your ass,   
and would like to add a few more while you're at it."  
  
His arms ripped free of the chains, shattering the metal loudly enough   
to hide the snap-sizzle of his arms as they whirled to aim at two   
members of the bench. The retort was unmistakeable, as was the sight   
of the head of one Cornelius Fudge exploding, and the arm of one   
Nigel Kirkland falling from his destroyed shoulder.  
  
"One account of assassination of a ranking ministry official. One   
account of assault with deadly intent on a ranking ministry official."  
  
A swarm of Aurors flooded the room, wands drawn and ready.  
  
Harry counted, ignoring the mass screaming and attempt at mass exodus.  
  
"Eighteen counts of assault on officers of the law, one count of   
resisting arrest."  
  
He ducked behind the stone chair, and heard the impact of several   
spells on it. His hand shot out, and he snatched Rodney's wand from   
where it had fallen.  
  
He slithered out from behind the chair, and mumbled some random   
gibberish under his breath, releasing spells as he did so.  
  
Watching the damage the curses caused as they impacted the organized   
Aurors. One particularly powerful Reductor shattered a shield, and   
then a man's ribcage.  
  
"Correction," he boomed, "seventeen counts of assault on officers of   
the law, and one count of manslaughter."  
  
From behind a desk, he gazed upward, and redrew the rune on his chest.   
"I dedicate this blood, these deaths, this battle, this Chaos to   
Loki."  
  
He jabbed the wand back into the waistband of his still indelibly   
white slacks, and jumped over the overturned desk. Most of the Aurors   
immediately ducked for cover, though one brave soul stood long enough   
to see the pure ecstacy in Potter's face before he passed out.  
  
He bowled into the remaining sixteen Aurors, noting each impact, he   
did have to make good on those charges after all.  
  
Oh, look! A sacrifical lamb.  
  
Harry snapped the man's arm, and stole his wand.  
  
That was fifteen. He needed one more.  
  
The last man cowered behind a bench, occasionally firing a curse over   
the wood, more often than not hitting the Aurors Harry was using as   
meatshields. Harry slashed the newly acquired wand at him, wondering   
who's idea it had been to use pine, a notoriously powerful amplifier   
wood, to create the benches. He thanked them.  
  
And then he bolted from the room, darting through the empty hallways.  
  
Mentally checking the elapsed time. **Five seconds, Raye. You're getting   
slow.**  
  
Yes, yes.  
  
**You could have run it in three.**  
  
Stealing wands was never a scenario.  
  
**The were unnecessary. Without a wand, it should have taken you four.**  
  
Alright! I fucked up! I had no exersize in over a month! A break!  
  
He ignored his retort to his statement, in favor of attempting to   
figure out where he was as he burst out of the building.  
  
Holy. Fuck.  
  
He knew that museum! It was the Louvre! He was in fucking _Paris_!  
_Courtroom 15, Paris. 0515, September 4._  
  
Jess16--Dragon-boy's a coward. And a horny one to boot. Gets his kicks   
off attempting to abuse the first years.  
  
mistik-elf13--They are, the entire italicized portion, in order:  
Place, Area. Time, Date.  
  
Nigel Kirkland is from Bubblegum Crisis 2040. I don't dislike him, other   
than he's in between Priss/Sylia, my... second-ish favorite pairing.  



	6. Watch

**Stahl Nacht**

  
  
  
CrimsonNoble   
A/N: I's bored. Wanna blow shit up. I's aware the last chapter just   
blazed on quickly. Yeh. Look at it from the ministry's point of view,   
are you going to wait if you have evidence of that sort? Not long, I   
should think. Anyway, there's a decent time gap, because nothing   
important happens in it. At least, I haven't thought of anything...   
Aside from one thing. But that's extremely hard to miss. So don't.  
Miss it, that is. And _before_ you yell at me, go back and read the end   
of the last chapter carefully. And no, I had this planned _long_ before   
I finished the first chapter, about the time I decided on the pairing.   
And, yes, I am a sick fuck. As sick, in fact, as people who do   
male-slash.  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING:_ This is rated R for a reason. Should you   
choose to ignore said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism,   
sadism, sensuality, graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible   
male/male relationships, and female/female. Ye hast been warned.**   
Should any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back   
button on your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry   
Potter section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an   
option for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac   
users there.  
  
**Spoilers**: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 6:  
  
_Pub, London. 2312, December 16._  
It was cold. This was quite explicable, and obvious. For one, it was   
the dead of winter. In England. For another, the windows, and more   
importantly, the beer, had a thick layer of frost.  
  
One Nymphadora Tonks stared into the depths of her half-empty glass.   
Yes, muggle liquor was far harder than the wizard variety. Therefore,   
as she wanted to be smashed out of her mind, she was in a muggle pub.  
  
She was well on her way to insensibility, and it didn't hurt that she   
still had almost no tolerance for alcohol.  
  
As a result, she wasn't aware that the thoroughly soaked man seated on   
the next stool was trying to hit on her. He seemed to take this as   
encouragement, and continue his attempts at flirting. Poorly, being   
drunk out of his mind, but it was an attempt.  
  
No one in the bar cared to notice the door opening with a tinkle of   
the bell over it. Only the tender bothered to look up, only noting the   
soft silver-blue hair before hurriedly looking away. He had learned a   
long time ago that unnatural hair colors meant both a barely satiable   
appetite for drink, to the point where it was lucrative enough that he   
did not card them, and that before being drunk, wild mood swings were   
most likely going to occur. Provoking them was rather stupid. Speaking   
of which, he should probably rescue the man trying to hit on the   
woman next to him. He most definitely did not want another police   
inquiry.  
  
The girl seated herself next to the nearly comatose Tonks, and tapped   
her fingers on the bar, waiting patiently.  
  
As the man came to attend, her cobalt and onyx eyes flickered around   
the room, observing at last that she was one of the only two women in   
the bar.  
  
In a thick Germanic accent, somehow enhanced, rather than overrun by   
her soft lilting tone, she announced, "The hardest thing you got.   
Two."  
  
The man nodded blandly, barely noticing her alabaster hands as he   
turned to obey her order.  
  
"Sixteen-seventy."  
  
The bleach colored hand delved momentarily into her pocket, and came   
out, dropping a wad of euro on the counter. "Take from that until it   
runs out."  
  
His eyebrows arched curiously. "Just for today, or is this going to be   
extended?"  
  
She tilted her head to the right, gazing at him curiously. "I do not   
know yet."  
  
"Can I get a name then?"  
  
She pondered for a long moment before murmuring in a voice that   
carried through most of the bar. "Raye. You can call me Raye."  
  
"Any last name?"  
  
She blinked lethargically. "You do not need to know that. Just give me   
the damned drinks."  
  
He nodded, and set the first down on the counter, before turning away   
to prepare the second.  
  
The pale girl stared into the liquid for a long moment, before slowly   
raising it to her lips, and in a totally non-sequitor action, downing   
half of in in one mouthful.  
  
As the acidic sensation roiled down her throat she stared with wide   
eyes at the mirror above the bar.  
  
Hell yes!  
  
**Drinking is not the answer Raye.**  
  
Fuck off bitch.  
  
**That will not solve it either.**  
  
I believe I told you to fuck off, yes? In addition, go to hell.  
  
Blessed silence slipped into her head, and she almost sighed   
involuntarily, before downing the rest of the dark drink.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"A cocktail. My specialty, can't give out the recipe."  
  
"Right. Two more."  
  
"You've only drank the one." He pointed out helpfully.  
  
"I know. Two more."  
  
Evidently realizing that she was not to be swayed in her descision,   
the man turned away to prepare another brace of the drinks.  
  
Raye stared into the second one for a while, trying to figure out how   
many she could consume before she passed out. A vague guess at seven   
was good enough for her, and she downed two thirds of the cup in one   
swallow.  
  
"Hey litthel gurlh..."  
  
Her eyes slowly turned toward the man. He was so going to die if his   
hand moved any closer to hers.  
  
"How 'bough I shough yesh a googh tiem...?"  
  
His hand touched hers.  
  
What happened next went more or less unnoticed by most of the bar, who   
were already either passing out, or nodding off.  
  
In other words, there were approximately two witnesses. The keeper,   
and the suddenly quite alert Tonks.  
  
Why she was alert, she didn't know. Maybe there was something sobering   
about watching a girl twist a man's finger and breaking it before   
tearing it off and throwing it out the door. Just maybe.  
  
The man looked down at his bleeding hand, and then out into the icy   
street. When he spoke, he was more offended than in pain. "Wudjer do   
thah foh?"  
  
"Get your filthy hand off of me." The girl ordered, somewhat   
belatedly.  
  
The metamorphamagus raised her eyebrows, impressed.  
  
The man glared and started to speak.  
  
Raye ignored whatever he had to say, and the back of her hand slammed   
into his face, sending him skidding across the floor of the bar.  
  
"You only get one warning."  
  
Now, if that was a warning, Tonks really did not want to see what the   
girl considered 'damaging'.  
  
"What's your name?" Tonks, apparently deciding that a conversation   
would be in order, asked.  
  
The girl's cobalt and onyx eyes lifted to the older looking woman's   
face, before travelling to her hair, currently flat and pink, her   
ears, pierced in more places than a cursory glance could count, before   
finally coming to rest on her lips, currently a dark lavender.  
  
She considered the woman for a while, her unwavering gaze starting to   
disturb Tonks slightly, before slowly announcing, "Raye."  
  
"Interesting name... I'm Nymphadora Tonks. Can I speak to you in...   
well, more private accomadations than this?"  
  
Raye's eyes fell to the drinks that had just landed in front of her.  
  
"Looks like it is going to be a long term investment, keep." She   
turned toward Tonks, the light reflecting in a breathtaking prism   
against her inverted eye colors. "Have one, and we will go." Raye   
muttered before pushing one of the drinks toward the other woman.  
  
Tonks looked distrustfully at the liquid. "What is it?"  
  
Raye shrugged, pulling the nearly empty cup away from her lips.  
  
"I do not know. The hardest thing they have, evidently."  
  
Tonks looked at the two already empty containers then back at Raye.   
Doing a bit of fairly diffcult math, because she didn't think it was   
humanly possible to actually consume more than one of the concoction,   
she slowly asked, "And that's your third?"  
  
Raye placed the empty drink on the bartop. "Yes. Hurry up."  
  
Tonks looked at the drink, and then with a resigned shrug, downed the   
glass in one extended drink.  
  
Bad idea. The force of the alcohol hit her in the same manner that a   
cruise missle hits a civilan house. And with much the same effect.  
  
"Shit!" She yelped as she felt her eyes widen abruptly.  
  
"Yes. It does that. Moving right along..."  
  
Tonks stood up, to the dismay of the drunkard who was still attempting   
to hit on her, and started to follow Raye.  
  
"Hey noaw... we wuz 'avin fun..."  
  
Tonks turned to look at him.  
  
"Yeh caaen't goh..."  
  
Tonks opened her mouth to say something, to find Raye brushing past   
her toward the drunk man.  
  
He smiled, evidently thinking his charm had won this delectable sweet   
over already.  
  
As such, he was unprepared for her fist to crash into his jaw, sending   
him to the floor.  
  
The bartender wisely kept out of the momentary outbreak.  
  
A fifty-euro note landed on his counter, and he glanced up at the   
woman.  
  
"For damages, and cleaning these morons out." She clarified, before   
turning and stalking out of the bar, ahead of a slightly swaying   
Tonks.  
  
"Where."  
  
It really didn't sound like a question, even though it was.  
  
"Here, close your eyes. I'll get us to my flat."  
  
The woman's eyes hardened. "No. I do not apparate with people who are   
drunk. They tend to splinch their passengers."  
  
Tonks blinked. Damn, that drink was hitting her fast. "Yer a witch   
then?" She asked hopefully.  
  
"Yes. Where is your damn flat."  
  
Tonks didn't know if it was the drink, the woman, or a combination,   
but at the moment she was both feeling really horny, and really   
attracted to the other woman.  
  
"If yer nagh gunna leh me apparate yeh, we has teh walk..."  
  
Tonks promptly turned, and entered the complex next to the bar.  
  
Raye stared. Well, it was convinently located when the other was   
smashed hard, she admitted.  
_Pub, London. 2344, December 16._  
  
-------  
  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Flat, ????. 0001, December 17._  
Tonks staggered through the door, collapsing to the couch in an   
undignified heap. The effects of that drink were _really_ beginning to   
hit her. Hard.  
  
She decided that passing out would be a good idea. Like some of her   
good ideas, she followed through on it.  
  
Raye sighed. The woman probably wouldn't wake up for a while. Loki,   
but this sucked. Stuck in an apartment with one of the most decidedly   
sexy women she had ever met, and unable to do anything because she had   
inadvertently given her enough alcohol--diluted even!--to knock her   
out. Suckage central.  
  
She looked at the other woman, and calculated. It wouldn't be quite   
morally right to do it... So she would.  
  
Raye lifted the unconcious woman, and carried her through the only   
open door. Which also happened to be the only door aside from the one   
that they had used to enter. Logical therefore, that it was the door   
to her bedroom.  
  
She deposited the unconcious woman into the bed, though perhaps her   
hands lingered slightly longer than necessary, before calmly walking   
around the bed and climbing in herself.  
  
For a long time, she stayed awake, making sure that Tonks was not   
retching, and was still breathing.  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Flat, ????. 0012, December 17._  
  
-------  
  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Flat, ????. 0913, December 17._  
Tonks woke to find herself lying in her bed, something she had no   
recollection of getting into, and staring at another indentation in   
the second pillow.  
  
Her mind leapt to the obvious conclusion. That being that she had   
brought someone home the previous night. An idea dashed, with a faint   
thought of disappointment, when she realized she was still dressed.  
  
She gently probed the pillow, finding a sky-blue hair on it, and   
noting that it was still warm.  
  
The hell?  
  
Moreover, it smelled like her kitchen was being used. Something that   
had not happened in, well, ever actually.  
  
So she climbed out of the bed, comfortable though she was, and started   
toward the only other room in the house, apart from the toilet.  
  
She blinked at the sight of the girl using her kitchen. "Who you?"  
  
At which point, she realized that she had a hangover.  
  
The girl pointed at a pot of hot coffee. "Drink."  
  
A faint memory drifted back at the sound of her voice. But, the coffee   
was more important at the moment.  
  
When she finally finished downing the first cup, and refilling the   
mug for the second, she turned toward the girl. "You're... Raye, was   
it?"  
  
"Yes. I am surprised you remember. You should not drink liqour that   
hard unless you are used to it."  
  
"Spare me the lecture. I'm sorry, but I don't seem to recall your last   
name. What was it?" Small talk to keep Raye from realizing how much   
fun Tonks was having, watching her deceptively delicate hands   
preparing food.  
  
"I did not give it. I have no reason as of yet to give it. Why did you   
want to talk to me last night?"  
  
Tonks blinked. She didn't remember that...  
  
"No idea. Jog my memory, would you?"  
  
Raye placed the pan down, having just taken it off of the burner, and   
walked over to Tonks.  
  
Tonks watched bemusedly, right up until the girl's knuckles rapped   
rather roughly on her head, whereupon she yelped.  
  
"What was that for?" She whined.  
  
The retort was, while deadpanned, laced both with a thick German   
accent, and a definite amused flicker of her eyes. "You said to jog   
your memory."  
  
Tonks said nothing, busy pondering how strangely sexy the voice was.   
  
"I take it you have never seen the Princess Bride?"  
  
"No."  
  
"English wizards and their bleeding superiority complex..."  
  
Lavender eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm not a pure witch, I'll have   
you know."  
  
"What of it? Riddle was a half-breed."  
  
"Are you comparing me to _him_?"  
  
"That is what it sounded like to me."  
  
"How _dare_ you!?"  
  
"Because I want to. You are not better than a pureblood. You are not   
better than a no-blood. By the same token, you are no worse. Magic is   
not in blood. Magic chooses who it will."  
  
Tonks observed that her hair was standing on end, waving madly as if   
caught in a hurricane.  
  
As she calmed it, she pleaded, "Did you have to use _him_?"  
  
"He is the darkest man you are familiar with. Probably outclasses the   
women you are familiar with too."  
  
"But..."  
  
And she was suddenly aware how close the girl was standing to her,   
enough to feel the other's breath on her face.  
  
"Shut. Up." God damn her voice!  
  
Tonks opened her mouth again, and had just enough time to see the   
inverted eyes roll before she felt the girl's lips against her own.   
  
She stood frozen for a long moment, before her hands slid roughly into   
the girl's hair, gripping the blue locks tightly and pressing harder   
against her mouth.  
  
Tonks felt the counter pressing against the small of her back, and   
moaned involuntarily.  
  
Raye promptly took advantage of the moment to slip her tongue into   
the other girl's mouth, plundering her territory viciously.  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Flat, ????. 0932, December 17._   
  
  
Jess16--School? Erm... no. No more school for Potter. Lived too long.  
  
mistik-elf13--This chapter just gave a major hint on that. Kind hard to   
understand if you didn't know already. But it is there.  
  
legacyZero--Oh, he could do a lot. He just chose not to.  
  
And so it begins. Really do go back and read the last chapter if you're confused. Raye is NOT an OC. 


	7. Meet

**Stahl Nacht**

  
  
CrimsonNoble   
A/N: Nothing really. I'm just... dunno. FF.N's screwing up in one of   
two ways, either it isn't sending out Review Notifications, and   
failing to upload them, or the review count function is massively   
messed up. I hope for the former, as the latter implies I'm not   
getting any reviews. C'mon, laugh with me. Please?  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING:_ This is rated R for a reason. Should you   
choose to ignore said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism,   
sadism, sensuality, graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible   
male/male relationships, and definite female/female. Ye hast been warned.**   
Should any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back   
button on your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry   
Potter section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an   
option for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac   
users there.  
  
**Spoilers**: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 7:  
  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1648, December 17._  
Tonks slid uncomfortably out of her bed, wincing as the cold tile   
connected with her bare feet. Her eyes traitorously tried to both shut   
and look back at the bed, empty though it was.  
  
This was becoming irritating. The... woman, she supposed, was gone.   
Again. This was becoming irritating.  
  
Tonks stretched, completely ignoring her state of undress, and glanced   
around the room before she felt a warm trickle sliding down her   
shoulder.  
  
Immediately her hand slid out to touch the warmth, caressing the slick   
substance. Too thick to be water, too fresh to be saliva...  
  
"The hell?" Tonks held her fingers in front of her, staring at the   
red coating. "Blood?"  
  
Oh. Right. Diana, that had been... words simply failed at that point,   
but brutal was an apt description. Not rape, she had been perfectly   
willing... but that was insane. No, uninhibited.  
  
She glanced idly at the clock on the bedside table, remarkably   
undamaged, and then glanced away again, heading for the shower. The   
Order meeting wasn't for another hour and twelve minutes anyway.   
  
Enough time to clean up and find out where the hell _she_ had gone.  
  
Tonks sighed uncomfortably as she wobbled toward the door to the   
bathroom. Gods be praised for hot water.  
  
And then abruptly she was inside the tiled room, disoriented for a   
long moment, her sense of time distorting rapidly.  
  
"Ungh... hell..."  
  
Somehow, she managed to reach the faucet and turn it on, despite the   
ache in her arms. Well, she ached everywhere, but that was not   
relevant.  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1659, December 17._   
  
-------  
  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1752, December 17._  
Raye stepped into the apartment slowly, closing the door behind her.   
She hadn't been gone all that long. No more than an hour and a half.   
Why she was back at all she didn't know. She didn't particularly care   
either.  
  
She turned at the sound of a tapping foot, observing the taller woman,   
with green hair and eyes, she absently noted, glaring at her.  
  
"Yes?" Still that same strangely sexy Germanic accent.  
  
"Where were you?"  
  
Raye's flippiant response was vastly annoying. "I was out and about."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Shopping, if you must know. Got some food."  
  
Tonks started to protest.  
  
"No. It is canned, and furthermore, I am not going to survive at   
the mercy of what is in your cooler. If you will keep me." Hell, she   
astutely observed. I'm practially begging her. That is interesting.  
  
Tonks lifted one elegant, green eyebrow. "_If_ I'll keep you?"   
  
"Of course. You do not have to. I will just go somewhere else then."  
  
"Hold on! I never said that."  
  
"Then pray tell, what is wrong?"  
  
"Nothing. But if we don't get going, I'm going to miss a rather   
important meeting."  
  
"I gather you want me to come."  
  
"That would be the implication of 'we'."  
  
Raye dropped the bag boredly. "Come on then. You're sober, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Why?" Was the only thing that came to mind.  
  
"I told you already. I do not apparate with drunks." Raye retorted.  
  
"I don't remember."  
  
"You _were_ drunk."  
  
"Gah! Late!"  
  
"Hurry up then."  
  
Tonks seized the other woman's arm, and apparated directly into   
Grimmauld Place. It wasn't hard to do, just required a bit of know   
how.  
  
"Impressive. Might want to renew that hiding charm though. I can see   
through it. Maybe just because I am in the house, but precautions are   
good." The voice didn't hold the wonder Tonks had been hoping for,   
but it was still interested. That was enough.  
  
"Come on!" Tonks grabbed the woman's arm, and rushed them down the   
hall to the door to the meeting room.  
  
"You are late, Nymphadora. And you have brought someone else. Two   
demerits."  
  
Only one person would dare call her Nymphadora. Tonks opened her mouth   
to retaliate, but was once again cut off.  
  
"Demerits? The _fuck_? Have I stumbled into a boy scouts meeting?"  
  
"I have not given you permission to speak. What is your name?"  
  
"Number one, I do not give a fuck about your permission. Number two,   
it is Raye, but you can call me Ma'am. Number three, do _not_ fuck with   
legilmency against me."  
  
"My apologies, sir," Tonks interrupted doggedly. "I was unavoidably   
detained."  
  
"You are forgiven, Nymphadora. You on the other hand, Miss Raye--"  
  
"I did not give you permission to call me by that name. If you wish to   
retain the capacity to speak, I would reccommend that you not."  
  
Dumbledore evidently saw something in her eyes that stated loudly that   
it was not an idle thread. "Very well then. You must know why you are   
here."  
  
"No. I do not. I assume this is some sort of anti-'evil' organization.   
Is that a safe assumption?"  
  
"Almost correct," Dumbledore responded. "But we are against all dark   
wizards."  
  
"Well then, you let witches walk? And have not killed half your   
members already? Hypocrisy at its best, ladies and gents."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Your people absolutely reek of the Dark, as you define them, Arts.   
He, for example," Raye indicated a gray haired man. Remus. "Smells of   
moonlight and wolf. The greasy one over there smells of pain and   
innocent blood. You smell of death yourself. Recent too. Been minding   
prisoners, or some such?"  
  
"In case you did not notice, Madame--"  
  
"It would be Mademoiselle. I am not married, fadge."  
  
"What did you call me?!" He immediately exploded.  
  
"A fadge. It is a Shakespeare word. Means something like ask."  
  
"Oh... right. Anyway, we are in the middle of a war."  
  
"Then consider yourself justified! You are using the very thing you   
attempt to fight in order to fight! Oh, the irony is sickening."  
  
"What is your problem, Miss?"  
  
"Hypocrites are my problem. I have no problem with your Dark Artsy-   
ness, but I do have a problem with your hypocrisy."  
  
Tonks butted in. "May we get this meeting back on track...?"  
  
"Right. Move right along, oh white-bearded one."  
  
Raye nodded blandly and leaned against the wall insubordinately.  
  
Tonks glared at her, though Raye seemed oblivious to the ired   
Metamorphamagus.  
  
"Why did you bring her here, Nymphadora?"  
  
"I saw her tear a man's finger off. I was impressed."  
  
From somewhere in the back of the room, a voice floated, "... which   
means you've already screwed her..."  
  
Tonks felt that she should have been given a medal for her restraint,   
as instead of killing the man, or just allowing Raye to do it for her,   
she merely flicked her wand with one of the more borderline legal pain   
curses. His yelp was quite satisfying, though he passed out a moment   
later. Retard.  
  
Dumbledore sighed, already accustomed to her somewhat erratic temper.   
"Why did you follow her?"  
  
"Because I felt like it." Raye retorted. That was her reason for doing   
anything, really. She just... chose.  
  
"We are the Order of the Phoenix, dedicated to the downfall of Lord   
Voldemort."  
  
"Wait, so now there is some jackass wandering around that you call,   
'Lord'? Loki, you English are subservient."  
  
"He has earned our respect, if not our love. We will kill him, someday.   
Until then, however, we will respect him with his title."  
  
Her eyes rolled. "Right. Whatever. What do you want with me?"  
  
"We want you to side with us, if what Nymphadora told us is true."  
  
"The finger thing? Oh, yeah. That is true. Do you want a   
demonstration? I would be absolutely ecstatic to give one. How about   
on grease-boy over there?"  
  
Raye indicated the man she meant with a wave of her hand, before   
walking over to stand in front of him. It was the first time anyone   
in the room, apart from Tonks, had someone to judge her against. The   
results were... stunning.  
  
The woman was short. Really short. She couldn't have topped five-two.   
It was rather amusing. The greased man snorted at the thought of this   
diminutive woman threatening _him_.  
  
He actually laughed right up until she rather rudely introduced her   
right knee into his groin, doubling him over, before her left knee   
greeted his nose, breaking it. He whimpered. Overdosing on the   
Cruciatus would do that to people.  
  
Raye lifted him up by the collar of his robes, smiling pleasantly into   
his face. "I am so glad you are amused. Right or left?"  
  
Utterly confused, he croaked out, "Right." That being his wand arm.   
His second mistake of the day, as she calmly broke his thumb, and took   
a long moment to see the pain in his eyes, giggling cheerfully, before   
she started to jerk on the broken digit.  
  
"Stop." It was but a word, though laden with so much command that an   
ordinary person would have stopped breathing.  
  
Raye turned, and smiled at the man, tilting her head to the right   
contentedly. "Why not?" She wondered, and flung the sobbing bundle at   
the old man, sending various bits of glass flying as the sallow   
skinned man impacted.  
  
Raye returned to leaning against the wall, amidst various subdued   
cheers for her achivement. It wasn't every day Snape got his ass   
slammed.  
  
Her inverted eyes flickered around the room before she slid her hands   
into her pockets, the blood already running off the pristine white   
pants, and shut her eyes. Loki this was getting boring fast.  
  
"I'm afraid I cannot let you get away with that, Raye."  
  
Her eyes opened, and she smiled happily. "I think I warned you about   
the use of my name, did I not?"  
  
And without seeming to pass between the two positions, she was   
kneeling on Dumbledore's chest, her thumb pressing firmly against his   
Adam's Apple.  
  
She already knew there were wands pointed at her back, and she also   
knew that she could kill everyone in the room without particularly   
caring. Well, apart from the point that she would be incredibly horny   
for a while after. But that was beside the point.  
  
But for some reason, she didn't really want to.  
  
"Hell, whatever. Do not do that again, got it?"  
  
She climbed off the desk, which she had been using to keep the aged   
man's spine in tilt, to prevent him from bringing any significant   
force to bear against her, slowly, before moving back to the wall.  
  
"Impressive. It has been a long time since someone has managed to do   
that to me. I hope that you do not have any objections to becoming a   
physical tutor for the Order, or at least the newly initiated members,   
do you?"  
  
"So long as I am not a part of the Order. Oh, and I teach no one   
unless they can knock me down before I disarm them. Furthermore, I   
want free reign in not only what, but how I teach them. One more   
thing, for now, at least. No one is to follow me. Anywhere. Without   
my express permission."  
  
"A rather long list of demands." Dumbledore deadpanned.  
  
"Reasonable though. Besides," she added with an amused lilt in her   
voice, "You wanted me. Not the other way around. And Loki, that sounds   
sick. ARGHH! MY EYES! IT BURNS! THE GOGGLES! THEY DO NOTHING!"   
Raye finished in an ear-piercing shriek. Indeed, one of the women present   
would later discover that the old piercings in her ears had opened up   
again. Which had nothing to do with anything, really, but made her   
wonder what had happened.  
  
There was a round of amused chuckles at the rather non-sequitor   
remark, before silence fell over the room, with an anti-audible,   
"Ouch." And a round of anti-audible curses about his clumsiness.  
  
Raye closed her eyes boredly, already feeling herself beginning to   
drift off. Hell, if she had known it would be this boring, she would   
have given more serious thought to resisting attending.  
  
Her ears perked as she heard something slithering onto the floor near   
the door, and smiled, her immaculate teeth shining in the dim light.   
  
To the closest wizard, she whispered, "Be quiet, cover your ears. Pass   
the idea."  
  
Calmly she walked toward the new addition to the room. An extendable   
ear. Not that she knew who or what was on the other end, but she could   
have some fun.  
  
Patiently she waited until everyone in the room had done as she   
suggested, or rather, almost everyone. There were, naturally, some   
idiots, but that was their fault.  
  
She lowered her face to the end of the ear, ignoring the way the   
motion stretched her pants uncomfortably, and took a deep breath.  
  
Driving her voice to an impossibly high pitch, an extatic gleam in her   
eye, she screeched into the ear.  
  
Half a second later, she stopped, aware that several people in the   
room were writhing on the floor, their ears bleeding.  
  
She could only imagine the damage that had been done to the person on   
the other side of the ear, who had taken the full brunt of the   
auditory assault.  
  
With a smile and a wave, she announced, "Carry on then, while I go   
deal with our eavesdropper."  
  
The seated Tonks shivered at the expression, tone of voice, and smile,   
which she had seen somewhere before. She wasn't sure exactly where,   
but it had been quite recent...  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 1821, December 17._  
  
-------  
  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 2101, December 17._  
"Did you really have to do that?"  
  
"What now?" Echoed the heavily accented response.  
  
"Well, first the stunt with Severus, then the stunt with Dumbledore,   
then the one with the ear, then the punishment. Wasn't that a little   
excessive?" Tonks attempted to elaborate.  
  
"No. Had it been any of _my_ teachers, they would be scraping their   
fingers off the floor with their toes."  
  
Tonks raised a violently blue eyebrow. "Happen to you?"  
  
Raye's eyes fixated on the wall. "Yeah. At least once a month."  
  
"Were you a bad girl?" Tonks jibed, letting the more than a slightly   
sensual overtones play with her voice.  
  
"Yes. Sometimes." Came the response, laced with pain.  
  
"What did you do?" Tonks inquired.  
  
"Once, I let my lust provoke me into doing something really stupid.   
Another time I assaulted a teacher. Both times I had to deal without   
various parts of my anatomy. The first time, it was my left arm. The   
second time it was my eyes." This time, the response was filled with   
a forigen emotion, something between terror and admiration.  
  
Tonks cautiosly placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "How...?"  
  
"The ligament connecting my upper arm to my lower was severed. That   
was... strange. Then the lenses of my eyes were removed." Her eyes   
refocused abruptly, and she shook her head. "Never mind. I would   
repeat both actions, were I given a second choice."  
  
"I'm... sorry..." Tonks murmured, though she felt something distinctly   
akin to awe at the imagined destruction of the other woman's body.  
  
"Don't be. Go get some sleep while I try to prepare something to eat."   
  
"Raye... I slept almost all day. Do you really think I'm tired?"  
  
Raye slowly blinked. "Do you really think I would have suggested that   
without a reason?"  
  
Tonks shivered at the suddenly predatory look in the inverted eyes.   
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 2109, December 17._   
  
seeker--Now, that would be telling, wouldn't it? No explanation is   
forthcoming. You'll find out. Eventually. Do note the periodic   
references to inhuman anatomy. Its a hint.  
  
Saetan--Indeed.  
  
mistik-elf13--You could say that. In a manner of speaking it is. Not   
quite immortal. Technically.  
  
Jess16--the drink was almost fifty percent alcohol. That is a very   
high concentration for alcohol. One gets smashed fast off that.  
  



	8. Move

**Stahl Nacht**

  
  
A/N: Feh. Nothing. But I know what's going to happen. Unless I choose   
to do something else on impulse... Which I probably won't. But, you   
never know, neh?  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 8:  
  
_Street, London. 1408, December 28._  
Raye shivered slightly, dressed in only a thick camouflage vest over   
her standard white blouse and white pants. Not for the first time that   
day, she glared at the now red headed woman dragging her down the   
street, before her eyes shut in resignation. She really had to wonder   
why she stayed with the taller witch, it could have just been for the   
sex, which was a good enough reason, but sometimes she felt almost...   
content. Something she hadn't felt for a long time.  
  
Her musings were interrupted as she crashed into the red head, nearly   
knocking both of them to the concrete.  
  
"What," Raye grumbled, "was that about?"  
  
Tonks pointed at a window, her eyes laughing. "I've found it!"  
  
Raye turned, quite nearly breaking into a cold sweat, to find that her   
fears were indeed justified. They had actually arrived... at a   
clothing store. She warred for a long time with her desire to run   
away, sobbing or screaming, she hadn't decided yet.  
  
At last, she gave up, allowing the taller woman to drag her inside,   
but not before one last prayer. Loki preserve her sanity.  
  
As Tonks dragged her toward the changing room, outfits appeared in her   
hands without her actually seeming to reach for them. It was, suffice   
to say, rather unsettling.  
  
And then, she was being thrown through the door to the changing room,   
landing rather awkwardly on her ass. She looked up to protest, when   
something else, namely a lot of leather, slammed into her face,   
stifling anything she might have been able to say long enough for the   
door to shut strongly.  
  
Outside the door, Tonks giggled gleefully. This was going to be _so_   
funny!  
  
She waited a very long minute, before calling out, "C'mon, let me see   
what you look like!"  
  
There was a long moment of silence before a muffled voice reached her   
ears. "I am _not_ coming out in this! If you want to see, you come in!"  
  
Tonks shrugged, pushed open the door, and entered. She looked around   
skeptically, wondering if Raye could disappear, when she heard the   
door shut behind her. She turned to see what happened.  
  
She stepped backward into the mirrored wall, gaping. In some twisted   
manner, Raye had managed to find the most intimidating, somewhat   
violent, clothes she had been given. Around her neck, for instance,   
she had wrapped a spiked collar, not unlike the kind you would find on   
a rottweiler. Her feet were clad in black leather boots that reached   
up to her knees, snugly enough to show that her legs were almost too   
skinny to be healthy. Only almost. Her skirt, once again black, with   
something that looked like it could be used to hold a whip on the left   
hip, over a slit, was small. Really small. As in, get any smaller and   
it's a wide belt, not a skirt. Furthermore, instead of a top, she'd   
decided to wrap three belts around her chest, one that barely covered   
her nipples, and the other two crossing between her breasts, to form   
something not entirely unlike an asterisk. Long gloves reached almost   
to her shoulders, the fingertips tapering into claws, which Tonks had   
no doubt would hurt.  
  
All of which contrasted sharply with her almost transparently white   
skin, causing Tonks to decide abruptly that anything else she'd seen   
the other woman wearing didn't compare to this. The fact that she'd   
never actually seen her in anything but the white uniform didn't deter   
her in this opinion, and she was almost sure that there wasn't   
anything that the silver-blue haired woman would look better in.  
  
"Oh, hell yes. We're definitely getting that." Tonks announced boldly.  
  
Raye's eyes narrowed, and she stepped forward, pressing her breasts   
against Tonks'. "Who says?" She demanded.  
  
Tonks, uncomfortably aware of how aroused she was becoming, pressed   
her back harder against the mirror for a moment, before scolding   
herself for her cowardice, and shoving against Raye. That it had a   
similar effect to a fly hitting an anvil, she felt better about   
herself. "I do." She whispered breathily.  
  
"Oh, good then." Raye turned and began to strip, throwing the garments   
aside from the collar into a pile she had now designated as, 'buy.'  
_Shop, London. 1417, December 28._  
  
-------  
  
_Street, London. 1634, December 28._  
Raye sighed, taking a deep breath of the icy air as she stepped out of   
the--what was this, fourth?--shop. Over her shoulder was slung the   
single bag, in which she had shoved the entire results of the   
expedition. Her eyes shut tiredly, and she swayed somewhat unsteadily   
on her feet.  
  
So, it was understandable when she almost failed to post out when   
Tonks crashed into her back.  
  
Unfortunately her temper flared, and she whirled on Tonks, catching   
the woman around the throat and dragging her close.  
  
"What," she grated out, "the hell was that about?"  
  
Tonks whimpered, both slightly sick at how this side of Raye was   
arousing her, and scared half-way out of her mind of the woman.  
  
"S-sorry..."  
  
Raye let go abruptly, catching Tonks as she staggered.  
  
In another abrupt mood-swing, she hugged the taller woman, whispering,   
"Sorry, sorry, sorry, man I _am_ a fuck up..."  
  
Tonks was more than vaguely unsettled by the sudden change in attitude,   
something she had not seen in the other woman. Funny, how the twelve   
days they'd been together sometimes felt like an eternity.  
  
Fuck... she was like some sort of lovesick puppy. God damn pathetic.   
  
Raye's ears twitched as she heard the distinctive sound of apparition.   
Curse the Death Eaters. _Always_ had to interrupt _everything_.  
  
They were just begging for death.  
  
Well, who was she to deny?  
  
She gently pushed Tonks away from her, tossing the bag into the   
metamorphamagus's arms. In response to the bewildered look, she   
flicked her head toward the newly arrived wizards.  
  
Tonks gaped for a moment in astonsihment, before the first curse, and   
therefore the pandemonium, flew.  
  
Whereupon her Auror training kicked in, and she immediately ducked   
into an alley. Not really the best choice, she admitted, but it was   
better than standing in the open.  
  
... Like Raye was doing. Fuck.  
  
Then, in a movement so fast she almost missed it, Raye had drawn some   
sort of weapon. It looked something like a large metal "L", but...  
  
Oh. Right. Gun.  
  
...  
  
What the hell? Since when does she have a _gun_? Was about as   
coherent as her train of thought was getting.  
  
Before that line went any further, the weapon roared twice. For some   
reason, possibly because it was a threat they were aware of, this sent   
the muggles scattering more effectively than the entire barrage of   
curses thusfar.  
  
Then again, it could have been the way the two shots more or less   
vaporized the head of one of the Death Eaters. Just maybe.  
  
Then the weapon vanished again, leaving only the headless man to   
testify to the fact that it had ever existed.  
  
And Raye was moving. Her hands dangled loosely at the ends of her   
arms, somehow managing to avoid curses anyway. And she was enjoying   
this. It was kind of hard to miss when her entire face was contorted   
with a kind of childish glee Tonks hadn't seen in years.  
  
Which wasn't to say Raye wasn't fighting. No, she'd already   
appropriated several wands, mostly off corpses, and was occasionally   
throwing curses. Mostly though, it was just her hands raking any   
exposed flesh they could find, and hell, some that wasn't, coming away   
bloody. Decidedly creepy.  
  
Raye giggled in the same way that a fifteen-year-old who has just been   
asked on a date by the school 'hunk', who she's incidentally had a   
crush on for the last four years might. This was so much fun!  
  
She whipped around, unleashing an _incendio_ at someone. She wasn't   
bothering to restrain her attacks to the Death Eaters now, she was   
just slaughtering anyone in her way. Absentmindedly she snapped one of   
the wands in her hands, dropping the shattered remains to the street,   
before catching the wand off a falling Death Eater, who had taken one   
of the nastier curses aimed at her.  
  
She flung the first wand she'd aquired through the air, noting with a   
degree of amusement, and a decent amount of arousal, that it had   
actually managed to puncture someone's neck entirely through. The man   
wasn't a wizard. The fact that he had just been standing in the middle   
of the road, bewildered, was a tip off as to that fact.   
Hell, she observed. I'm not supposed to be killing civvies, am I?  
  
**There are no civilians.**  
  
Ho! She observed as she drove a man's wand through his neck. Took   
you long enough to start criticizing!  
  
**Left!**  
  
Raye's hand caught the side of the man's head, and swung him into   
another of the, rapidly dwindling, standing bodies. In a carefully   
planned gesture, she lazily reached out and sliced across the man's   
neck.  
  
She smiled delightedly as she whispered, "Tell them Raye sent you.   
Tell them I'm here."  
  
When she saw the long, somewhat boxy rifle, with an awkwardly placed   
handgrip on the bloody ground, she broke into a delighted grin. How   
simply gorgeous! A Remington M31!  
  
She stomped on the back of it, popping it into the air, in much the   
same way as skateboarders did to their boards. Only with much deadlier   
results.  
  
She caught the weapon, brought it up, and fired once. Moved. Cocked the   
weapon, fired again. Moved. A third shot, and she felt it run dry, so she   
dropped it, having served it's purpose.  
  
Yeah. So she was leaving her DNA everywhere. Not like anyone would   
know what the hell to make of it. Fingerprints? They'd been removed.   
She'd done it herself.  
  
Raye whirled around the Desert Eagle .50 whipping out again, and   
firing twice more, the first putting a hole through the chest of the   
wizard approaching Tonks' hiding place, the second drilling a hole in   
another man's neck, which she observed wasn't where she was aiming.  
  
The gun vanished again, and she rolled away from a curse that would   
have, literally, skinned her alive.  
  
Tonks was, meanwhile, carefully gaping at Raye out of the corner of   
her eye, while looking for the approaching sirens. She wasn't against   
Raye enjoying herself, but she was very against Raye being arrested.  
  
So, when she started to hear the sirens, or rather, realized what they   
were, she started toward the girl, intent on getting the hell out of   
there.  
  
When Raye felt the hand on her shoulder, she whirled, stopping her   
hand less than an inch away from Tonks' face. "What?" She demanded   
harshly.  
  
"We need to go." Tonks whispered.  
  
Raye blinked, turned her head to the side, and nodded after a moment.   
"Lead the way."  
  
A stray curse rebounded off a Death Eater's shield, before slamming   
into Raye's back, knocking her hard against Tonks.  
  
The bleach colored woman whirled, a wand snapping into her hand, and   
barked something in a harsh language.  
  
The shield imploded, turning into visible fragments, not unlike glass,   
as the spell impacted, slicing deeply into the man's flesh.  
  
Raye helped Tonks to her feet, whispering, "Hurry up and apparate," as   
she did so.  
  
The two disappeared with a whipcrack.  
_Street, London. 1636, December 28._  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0530, January 1._  
A group of children, barely seventeen, milled around the room in a   
disorganized fashion. There was a certain... unity to the group, Raye   
observed from where she sat, perched on top of the window. Or rather,   
there were several groups-within-the-group. That would have to change.  
  
At last, when the milling organized chaos began to leak toward the   
door, she spoke. "I did not dismiss you."  
  
It was rather amusing to see the children's astonishment. She was both   
amused and disappointed. She hadn't even been trying to hide, but no   
one had noticed her anyway.  
  
Had she really been like that once?  
  
"Right then. Line up."  
  
The children did as ordered.  
  
Raye walked up to the first girl in line, stared into her eyes, and   
asked softly, "Honor or morals?"  
  
While the child could honestly say that it was a strange question, she   
could also say that she somehow knew how to answer it. "Honor," she   
whispered back, feebly.  
  
Raye pointed to the aft side of the room, where the door was. "Stand   
over there then."  
  
This continued, with everyone who answered, "Honor," being sent near   
the door, and everyone who answered, "Morals," being sent toward the   
wall with the window.  
  
"Right then," Raye began, noting in annoyance that the number of   
people on the honor side of the room vastly outnumbered the morals   
side. "Everyone who said 'Honor,' get the hell out. I am not teaching   
corpses. Everyone who said 'Morals' stay."  
  
There was an outcry of disbelief at this announcement, though a single   
glare from the albino-like woman silenced them. "Move." She ordered   
angrily.  
  
There were several mutterings, mostly of things like, "bitch" and   
"whore," but the children obeyed.  
  
"Now. You make a choice," Raye snapped at those who remained. "I am   
not going to teach you to defend people. That is not your job. Your   
job is killing the enemy. I am not going to teach you to defend   
yourself. That means you have stopped moving, and have therefore   
fucked up. I am not going to teach you to win in a 'fair fight.' That   
means you have already forfeited. I am not going to teach you to, as   
the Ministry calls it, 'disable and capture.' That is stupid. I am   
going to teach you to kill. I am going to teach you to surprise the   
enemy. I am going to teach you how to stack the odds so heavily in   
your favor that it is impossible to lose. I am going to teach you to   
be merciless. I am going to teach you to enjoy what you do. I am going   
to, in short, teach you to become soldiers.  
  
"Should you have any objection to the above, get out. Like I said, I   
am not teaching corpses." She watched as about half the remaining   
people filtered out.  
  
Unsurprisingly, most of those who remained were in Ravenclaw. There   
were, astonishingly, one or two Slytherins. Apparently some of the   
house barrier had broken down. Even two Gryffindors, Ron and Hermione,   
had stayed. They were not going to last the training. They would fail,   
if only on the grounds that they had not gone with their first   
reactions, "Honor" and to leave with the rest of the people who   
objected to what she would teach. The little idiots had fought it.  
  
Raye laughed mercilessly. She was going to enjoy breaking them.  
  
"Right. I am going to teach you one thing today. Never let your enemy   
engage in a fight where the sides are equal. _Never_.  
  
"Outnumber them. Stab them in the back. Ambush them. Have me on your   
side. Because, you see, you are not going to survive doing anything   
else.  
  
"Report here after lunch, 1315. Earlier if you like. Understand that I   
can, and will, drop you for the smallest of infractions."  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0534, January 1._  
  
  
Drizzt of the 203-SAW--'s from the Simpsons, but it's a LUEism now   
too.  
  
Relle--Seeing as Ange (apart from Harry/Raye) don't exist, and there's   
about a ten-thousand year spectrum when they don't, Dumbly don't know.   
I have a strange urge to now sing "Dumbly doesn't know..." to the tune   
of "Daddy wasn't there..." of Austin Powers. O_o  
  
jghjghg --seven sixteenths of an inch is all you have to move your   
little finger from "A" to "Caps Lock" to not sound like an idiot. I   
defer to Maddox (.xmission.com) at this point.  
  
Sword of Darkness--do you really, really want me to rant about your   
reading comprehension skills? let me quote you something quite   
relevant to your commentary: "Really do go back and read the last   
chapter if you're confused. Raye is NOT an OC." That was at the end of   
chapter six, and there was also something about it at the beginning.   
Do you want to know what that was referring to? End part of chapter   
five, Harry's self-criticism: "Five seconds, Raye. You're getting   
slow." So, are you just incapable of adding two and two to get four?   
By now you should realize that I don't tell people where things are   
heading in a fiction, so that question was pointless. But yes, I do   
know where it's going.  
  
Everyone else, apologies for the rant. I'm just annoyed that he/she   
brought up an issue I had already addressed before anyone asked about   
it. Oh, and that he/she called it "really, really stupid". *bows   
apologetically*  
  



	9. Fight

**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
  
A/N: I must admit I am overwhelmed by the response. My thanks. I would   
also like to apologize to Sword of Darkness, I should not have done   
that publicly. That should have been done in private, perhaps through   
e-mail.  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 9:  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 1315, January 1._  
Raye was, once again, perched inside the room. Unlike last time,   
however, she was on the desk that headed the room. She had left the   
tables inside the room, as obstacles.  
  
"Right then. Everyone here?"  
  
There was an uneasy silence as the students counted themselves, trying   
to make sure that they were indeed all present.  
  
They weren't. Raye already knew this, but she was trying to make an   
example. Don't be late, and take care of your own, because no one else   
is going to.  
  
"No?" She asked as a general murmur of dissent arose.  
  
"Well then. They will be our first participants when they arrive."  
  
She leaned back, bracing herself on her hands, and whistling a   
cheerful tune softly. She believed it was Malfoy and Weasley who   
missing. Probably got into a fight then.  
  
Ahh, yes. She'd forgotten to mention that.  
  
It was a long five minutes, during which her students were growing   
more and more restless. Another discipline to teach them. Patience.  
  
Then the door creaked open slowly, and the two students edged in,   
glaring daggers at each other. It was corny to say so, but if looks   
could have killed, both of them would have been about thirty-six feet   
under. Pity looks couldn't.  
  
Well, Raye mused, I wonder if I could...  
  
She broke off that train of thought, and looked serenely at the boys.   
From the looks of great trepidation that the two had been sporting   
moments ago, the relief in their eyes was rather amusing.  
  
And then Raye smiled.  
  
"Good of you to join us." She murmured, though everyone in the room   
heard it. "I see you have sustained injuries. Have you sought medical   
attention?"  
  
The boys almost shared a glance before they realized what they were   
about to do, and stopped themselves. Nevertheless, they answered in   
unison, "No." Naturally they glared at each other, offended greatly   
for no particular reason, and looked generally like they were about to   
get into another fight.  
  
Raye smiled nastily, sending an eerie chill down the central nervous   
systems of those looking at her.  
  
"Good, good, good. I forgot to mention that, you are forbidden from   
seeking outside medical aid." She smiled widely at the astonished   
looks. "Which means you had better start researching spells and   
talking to each other, because you are going to be the only ones who   
can heal yourselves."  
  
There was a moment of strenous objection before the class quieted. The   
general agreement seemed to be that they would not need to be healed.  
  
How wrong they were...  
  
"Now, until each and every one of you is able to knock me down before   
I disarm you, we will proceed no further. Weasley. You first."  
  
The boy blinked as the rest of the class inched not so subtly away   
from him.  
  
What could be so terrifying about a mere woman?  
  
"Aren't you going to clear the desks?" He inquired.  
  
"You do not seem to understand. I am not teaching you to fight under   
ideal or equal conditions."  
  
The red haired boy shrugged, and started counting. A Wizard's Duel   
began on 'Five.'  
  
Raye didn't bother waiting until that, already moving before he'd   
reached 'two.'  
  
"What--" Was all he managed to get out before Raye's shoulder slammed   
into his midsection, knocking him into a desk, sending his wand flying   
into the air.  
  
Raye's hand lashed out in a burst of unnatural speed and caught the   
flying wood.  
  
"I said I was not teaching you to fight under equal conditions. I   
never said I would be using magic. Weasley, you have stopped the class   
from proceeding today." Raye's scorn for the boy echoed clearly in the   
cold air. "Go stand by the door. On the left side. Malfoy, forward."   
  
The second somewhat injured boy stepped forward, already aware of what   
was going to happen. There was fear in his eyes, yes. But that he   
actually had the guts to draw his wand drew at least a small measure   
of respect.  
  
Raye grinned at him ecstatically, before announcing, "Begin."  
  
She stood still, allowing his _expelliarmus_ to slam into her.  
  
Her stolen wand, she really didn't know why she had it out, flew from   
her hand as she arched backward, waiting silently as the boy turned   
around, thinking himself victorious.  
  
Raye abruptly threw herself into a flip, getting her feet under her,   
and landing in a more or less three-point position. There was almost a   
cry of warning before she lunged, allowing Malfoy to turn back toward   
her before she hit him, driving a knife she had procured up into the   
tricep of his wand arm.  
  
He fell, shrieking.  
  
"I told you," she snarled as she ripped the knife free, "we fight   
until I hit the ground or I disarm you. Do not let your guard down."  
  
Turning, she continued, "Right then. Who goes next." At the looks of   
terror, she added, "no one leaves until all of you have tried."  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 1324, January 1._  
  
-------  
  
_UFT, ????. 2301, January 2._  
"Where _are_ we, Raye?" Tonks demanded.  
  
Raye's eyes flicked toward her in amusement. "Somewhere in Germany,"   
she responded, her accent almost thicker than it had been before.  
  
Tonks glared. "What in Diana's name are we here _for_?"  
  
Raye's lips curled upward. "You wanted to know where I disappeared to.   
This is where. Do not ask more questions yet, be patient. Here, you   
are in box Theta. Hurry along, you will see me soon enough."  
  
Raye promptly disappeared into the crowd. Her hair wasn't enough of an   
identifier in this place, where green, blue, and a sort of pink shade   
of hair were normal, plus she was about a head shorter than everyone   
else, giving her further cover.  
  
Tonks glared, then realized she was directly in front of her box. She   
sighed, and entered, knowing trying to find Raye would be fruitless.  
  
It wasn't long before there came a concerted roar from the crowd of   
bodies as the announcer stepped out into the chain-link cage.  
  
"And now, for the last fight of the night, welcome the survivors of   
the deathmatch tournament!" Another earsplitting roar followed this.   
"First, we have the Angel of Mercy! Deshwitat Alucard!"   
There were screams of approval, accompanied by a sparse few chants of,   
"I love you!" as a long-haired man dressed in a black trenchcoat, but   
Tonks was too far away to make anything else out.  
  
The man waited for a lull in the chaos before continuing. "And next we   
have the shockingly lavender huntress--" he paused as a long roar of   
approval accompanied by a surge of bodies against the cage echoed in   
the dark chamber. "Low Key Lyesmith!"  
  
There was a brief silence as a woman stepped into the ring. Her hair   
was died a... shocking lavender, and so was her skin. Her clothes were   
exactly the same color, a skintight tanktop with a pair of loose   
fitting cargo pants.  
  
Then the room exploded in a chant of, "Low Key, Low Key, Low Key!"  
  
The noise was, suffice to say, shocking. It exploded without any slow   
increase in volume, and though there had been no indication of its   
coming, it seemed as if the entire crowd had started as one.  
  
Tonks looked around for Raye for a moment before her eyes fell upon a   
screen to her right. For a moment she stared in utter silence, before   
her face turned into a mask of disbelief.  
  
Sure, the skin and hair color was different, and so were her clothes,   
but there was not questioning the fact.  
  
Low Key Lyesmith was Raye...  
  
"Begin!" The announcer bellowed as he retreated into his small chamber   
off the side of the cage. It certainly looked like glass, but that   
would have been stupid. What was it the muggles called it? Impact   
resistant? Polycarbon or something like that?  
  
Deshwitat was moving before the echo had finished, much to the   
enjoyment of the crowd. Tonks decided she needed a better view, and so   
turned toward the screen, the camera of which was focused on   
Deshwitat. His hands were glowing strangely, though she couldn't tell   
if that was because of his gloves, or some sort of spell.  
  
His open palm slammed into Raye's gut, barely phasing her. There was a   
brief second before it exploded, sending Raye flying backward into the   
cage fence. Tonks gasped, she'd only seen Raye fight on one or two   
occasions, but seeing someone fling her around like that was just   
disturbing.  
  
The so called Angel of Mercy turned his back toward her, evidently   
assuming he'd won. Though Tonks believed him correct in this   
assumption, she hoped he wasn't.  
  
And she was thus pleased to see Raye stand, the shirt burned away from   
her abdomen, revealing that she had probably done her entire body with   
the lavender dye.  
  
There was another echo from the crowd, and Deshwitat turned around,   
surprised.  
  
By then, however, Raye was already directly in front of him, her right   
hand swinging for his face, open. It impacted with a crunch, as his   
jaw broke, and left five long red gashes on his immaculate skin.  
  
He staggered, nearly collapsing, before his glare turned up toward   
Raye again, and he started to stand. Unfortunately, this lead him   
straight into Raye's roundhouse kick, sending him streaking into the   
fence in much the same manner that she had done, though the impact   
nearly sent him through the metal, but nevertheless shredded his coat.  
  
Slowly he stood, blood trickling down his face, hunched slightly to   
his left as if he was nursing several broken ribs.  
  
Raye lunged, without waiting for the man to attack, driving one clawed   
hand into his chest, shattering his sternum, sending bone fragments   
into his lungs, also scoring a deep laceration on one of the major   
arteries leading out of his heart. Despite the internal damage,   
however, his skin remained unbroken.  
  
Raye's eyes glittered as the man collapsed, reflecting oddly in the   
spotlight directed at her. She raised her arms, rotating slowly on the   
spot, as if seeking something from the crowd.  
  
"Judge him!" She howled, her accent disturbingly heavy.  
  
The crowd screamed in response. "KILL HIM, KILL HIM, _KILL HIM_!"  
  
Raye turned, her blood-soaked hands lowering to her sides.  
  
Deshwitat, the Angel of Mercy, looked up, and attempted to lift his   
arms to defend himself.  
  
For a moment, it looked as if he would succeed, and Raye's smile   
widened.  
  
And then his arms fell, as well as his head.  
  
Raye snarled furiously, and she drove her hand up from underneath his   
jaw, spearing his skull.  
  
She remained still for a moment, before ripping her hand away and   
strolling back toward the edge of the ring. Before she reached the   
exit, she stopped and traced a symbol on her face in the man's blood.  
  
Behind her, the man fell face forward onto the bloody ring, crimson   
streaking his cheeks as it leaked from his eyes, giving the vague   
impression that he might be crying.  
  
And the crowd raved, "Low Key, Low Key, _Low Key_!"  
_UFT, ????. 2316, January 2._  
  
  
Secondary Disclaimer Notes: Low Key Lyesmith comes from _American Gods_,   
by Neil Gaiman. Deshwitat is from _Rebirth_ by Woo, a Graphic Novel.   
Alucard is Dracula spelled backward, of the Bram Stokes novel. I did   
not get it from Castlevainia.  
  
Saetan--You know, I just said your name aloud. Pronounced it "satan",   
but that's probably wrong. You are... close to right with what   
Raye/Harry is. Slightly off though. That thought actually had crossed   
my mind, when I was considering an NC-17 chapter/chapter part. It may   
or may not show up here, if at all. But I know where it'll be if it   
does. Heh, I remember this one guy, his girlfriend was erection-   
phobic. Poor guy. XD  
  
Relle--Yes, Loki is the trickster god. Norse, I believe. The reason I   
used "Low Key Lyesmith" as her pseudo. I can't claim that the name's   
mine though. It comes from _American Gods_ by Neil Gaiman. And yeah,   
Raye is Harry. The change is a rather extensive, complicated process.   
Painful too. Harry may or may not reappear as a male. If he does,   
that'll kinda throw Tonks if it's before I establish something.  
  
  



	10. Punishment

**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
  
A/N:   
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 10:  
  
_Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts. 0822, January 3._  
The old man's blue eyes twinkled begninly. "Miss Raye! This is   
inexcuseable!"  
  
Raye sighed. "It is 'rok."  
  
To cover his not-quite-understanding, Dumbledore prised a lemon drop   
from his pocket, and began to suck. "What is?"  
  
Raye's eyes rolled. "My name. It is Raye'rok, if you must add to it.   
Otherwise, don't bother."  
  
Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Which does not address the simple fact that --"  
  
Raye interrupted at this point, "--I kill people for a living."  
  
Dumbledore's face fell slightly. "You do?"  
  
Raye nodded, her blue hair bobbing with the motion. "Yes, but go on."  
  
Dumbledore looked at her solemnly for a moment before continuing.   
"Your abuse of my students is intolerable. Why, Miss Granger could   
barely walk when they came back from your--dare I say it?--class."  
  
Bleach colored lips curled in a derisive manner. "She is not the kind   
of person who will do what is neccessary. I know this. I am trying to   
get her out of my class. The girl may be smart, but she is still   
useless without application. She will not kill when the time comes. I   
do not want her in my class. Take her and her boyfriend out."  
  
The aged wizard frowned. "You are teaching them to... kill?"  
  
Inverted eyes shut boredly. "Yeah. Get over it. I am teaching them to   
win wars, not to coddle. Yeah, when this war is over they will be   
discarded. Maybe they will find that there is _more_ to the world than   
England. That there are other so called Lords who threaten. That there   
are other wars to fight. English wizards are so arrogant. You believe   
you have the only destructive infestation..."  
  
Dumbledore's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed another chunk of the   
yellow sweet. "Why do you say that?" He inquired.  
  
Raye's eyes opened again, and gazed unfocused out the window. "Can you   
honestly tell me you know the names of the last four killers in Japan?   
Mongolia? Iraq? Greenland? Hell, _Iceland_? Any?"  
  
Dumbledore's head slowly shook in a negative response.  
  
"Yeah." Raye's smile was full of obscene glee. "You should go visit   
Iceland. Nice little place. A breeding ground for homicidal maniacs."  
  
The old, yet younger, man sighed. "I... do you want a lemon drop?" He   
asked after a long pause.  
  
Raye laughed heartily. "Yes, I think I would."  
  
She accepted the candy, palming it as she pretended to put it in her   
mouth. Surreptitiously she tossed it under the desk.  
  
If the old man noticed, he didn't mention it.  
  
"Tell me, Dumbledore. Have you ever killed someone _just_ to watch them   
die?"  
  
This question succeeded in doing something people had been trying to   
do for years. It made the wizard's knees knock together. "No." He   
snapped decisively.  
  
Raye's lips drew into another thin smile. "Neither have I." At the man's   
look of relief she continued, "I killed five more so he wouldn't be   
lonely."  
  
The old man sagged in his chair. "Why...?" There had to be a reason,   
he thought desperately. No one would just kill...  
  
Inverted eyes focused on his face, before closing dismissively. "I   
think you already know the answer."  
  
Dumbledore's eyes hardened, and he asked again, more insistently,   
"Why?"  
  
Raye slowly responded. "Did you know? Gods exist because of belief.   
And when those who believe in them move to a new land, the gods go   
with them. But they are no longer the same gods. Because those who   
stay behind also keep the gods. So the gods seperate, become two   
entities instead of one. They survive on belief. And when they are   
forgotten, they die. Your Hephaestus, oh do not look so surprised, his   
name is written in the way you act, exists because people believe in   
him. I have wondered what it would be like to die like they do. I   
suppose it would be rather like cyanide poisioning, eating and eating,   
but never getting what you need."  
  
"Cyanide?" Queried the old man, puzzled.  
  
"Science tells people that thier bodies break sugars down thirty-two   
times, or something like that. Cyanide halts that reaction, so it is   
only broken twice. One starves, rather quickly."  
  
Dumbledore, in an impressive switch, attacked her methods of training   
again. "And why is Miss Granger useless if she won't kill when the   
time arises, as you say?"  
  
Raye blinked, and went over her mental records of the conversation   
quickly. "Ahh. She has 'honor'. I do not like to train corpses."  
  
"That makes no sense! Honor does not make someone a corpse!" Burst the   
man.  
  
"In a war, honor breeds corpses." Raye offered snidely.  
  
Despite the fallacy of this 'logic', the old man was curious, "How?"  
  
"Honorable people make fights fair. Honorable people do not strike   
first, nor fastest, nor hardest, and rarely do they strike last." Raye   
slowly trailed off into silence, though her mouth kept moving as if   
she was still talking.  
  
In another completely non sequitor comment, Dumbledore offered, "I   
have a friend who frequents the darker arenas. Do you know of them?"  
  
Raye nodded distantly, "Yes. I do. After a fashion."  
  
"Good, have you perhaps heard of a 'shockingly lavender huntress'?"  
  
Raye shook her head. "I have not been told of her, no."  
  
The man in the lurid violet robes sighed. "Pity. I would like to   
congradulate her on her excellent taste in colour."  
  
Raye broke into a difficult laugh. She felt strangely uncontrolled,   
and while it wasn't an entirely forigen sensation, it wasn't one she   
particularly liked either.  
  
When she finally regained a measure of control, she spoke. "I believe   
I have a class to teach... And get the Granger and her boyfriend out   
of my sight. Thanks for the lemon drop..." And then she broke into   
more snickering.  
_Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts. 0837, January 3._  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0844, January 3._  
Raye had returned to her desk, seated on top of it once again. Her   
arms braced her, keeping her from lying flat out on her back. The   
right leg was draped over the left, and bobbed slowly.  
  
Her eyes, shut serenely, stared up at the ceiling. Or at least, had   
they been open they would have.  
  
Once again, the class was in their organized disorder, milling around   
waiting for two missing students again, though Malfoy was here this   
time. Granger and her boyfriend were missing.  
  
Raye figured she'd give them another minute before she shut the door,   
locking them out. Then she'd take her frustration out on her students,   
or at least the ones apart from the one that had managed to knock her   
down. Not that she had actually been going full out on anyone, but the   
vague impression that she should, at least, let them have the illusion   
that she could be beaten. Break them in slowly and whatnot. Why?   
Because then they would assume that they had been slacking off in   
their training, and therefore train harder. Two plus two equals five,   
and the like.  
  
The two missing victims barged in with ten seconds to spare. Raye took   
careful note of the way their clothes were rumpled, and the way   
Weasley was in girl's robes, while Granger was in a male's.   
Interesting. Shame them.  
  
"So, now that the two of you have stopped fucking long enough to   
attend class, would you care to explain to everyone why you are late?   
Your other option, mind, is physical punishment." Raye ignored the   
cries of 'injustice!' and denial.  
  
"Choose." She ordered cheerfully.  
  
The two glaced at each other, before finally deciding on physical   
punishment.  
  
"Oh, goody! Well now, you have two choices, class. Either I punish   
everyone here, or you punish these two to my satisfaction! Believe me,   
I do not care which you decide upon."  
  
In an unanimous movement, the entire class turned upon the cross-  
dressing students. Raye's delighted smile should have been warning   
enough for the two late arrivals, but they didn't heed it.  
  
"Well?" She inquired curiously, "What are you waiting for?"  
  
There was a nervous glance shared among the students, uncertain of   
what exactly they were supposed to do. "Oh, for... spells, fists,   
feet, whatever."  
  
There was a long moment of silence, before Raye broke it again. "I can   
always go for the second punishment..."  
  
This was, evidently, enough to convince them, and Malfoy's foot   
stomped on Weasley's ankle, and a loud crack echoed through the room.   
Weasley went white, and collapsed like a man with a broken leg. Well,   
he had a broken leg, so that wasn't surprising. Raye smiled, and   
motioned for the punishment to continue.  
  
There was a vague gagging sound from somewhere in the crowd as a spell   
crashed into Granger, slicing her robes open across the midsection,   
and sending blood spraying from the new laceration. Raye nodded,   
waiting silently for more.  
  
Malfoy grinned, and the back of his left hand, as he still couldn't   
really do anything with his right, slammed into the doubled-over   
Granger's temple, sending her to the ground. Blaise echoed the   
sentiment, and her spell picked Weasley up off the ground before   
slamming him back into it.  
  
Raye grinned, shifting uncomfortably on her desk, aware that Tonks was   
probably going to enjoy Raye's current state later.  
  
And so the beating proceeded.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0850, January 3._  
  
-------  
  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1857, January 3._  
Tonks unlocked the door, curious as to where exactly Raye was.   
Dumbledore himself had asked her to find the woman, so she obeyed. Not   
that she had to or anything. But she was curious too. She hadn't seen   
her lover since Raye had killed the man.  
  
She stepped in, not looking at the door as she shut it behind her.  
  
Therefore, it was quite understandable that she was a bit surprised   
when a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. She felt an instant of   
panic before her mind pointed out that if it had been someone wishing   
her harm, she would already have been unconcious.  
  
When she finally looked down, noting the bleached color of the arms   
around her, she felt a set of teeth scrape along the back of her neck,   
and closed her eyes, shivering.  
  
She shivered further as a husky, German accented voice whispered in   
her ear, "Oooou... Did you like that?" Before she went limp, falling   
against the woman behind her.  
_Numphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1858, January 3._   
  
Vengeful Creature--seven sixteenths of an inch.  
  
Reika--On my part, I like f/f, and am quite satisfied with m/m. And   
aside from that, I'm writin this for me. No one else. Harry is Raye,   
that's his name. And his name is quite important to him. But, as I   
told Relle: "Harry may or may not reappear as a male. If he does,   
that'll kinda throw Tonks if it's before I establish something." And   
no, you no get explanation of Ange. That's a card I'm going to play   
later.  
  
ReginaLucifer--Y'know, it hadn't even crossed my mind that both   
Deshwitat and Malfoy had similar defeats... >.   
Relle--interesting mental image, that. I've never actually heard of   
this Matantei Loki Ragnarok thingy. I also somehow got it into my head   
that Loki was also the god of chaos, so that's what he is in my   
personal pantheon. Yeah. He's dead. And the only way to technically   
win the match is to kill your opponent. Quite literal in 'deathmatch'.   
As for why a girl: women have a lower center of gravity then men.   
Besides, Raye just likes it that way. Oh, yes, Dumbledore minds. Raye   
just doesn't give a damn that he does.  
  
taruial--Yes, I did like American Gods. Unfortunately, I have not read   
Sandman, but it looks hella cool.  
  



	11. Kill

**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
  
A/N: I's having hella comp problems. Forgive me. Delayed to hell.   
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 11:  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0829, January 4._  
Raye arraigned herself cheerfully in her seat, crossing her ankles as   
she prepared for Dumbledore's imminent wrath. Old bastard didn't seem   
to like her teaching methods. Oh well, that was his problem.  
  
"I have spoken to you on this matter before! This is intolerable! Miss   
Raye--" He began in an incensed manner.  
  
Raye interrupted him, once again. "And _I_ have spoken to you about my   
name before. It is 'rok."  
  
The old man glared. "That is irrelevant!"  
  
Raye shrugged. "Your damn problem then. I do not care what happens to   
those two. I believe I also asked you to pull them out, something you   
had plenty of time to do. Your fault."  
  
Dumbledore bristled, something that the woman snickered at. It wasn't   
every day, after all, that you saw Dumbledore's beard standing on end.   
Interrupting again, before he really had a chance to say anything, she   
continued, in a delightedly matter-of-fact voice. "And do not think to   
attempt to fire me. Do so and I can guarantee that all of my students   
will die rather un-nice deaths. I personally like the 'cut-them-apart-   
and-then-let-them-die' one. Kinda like a vivisection, but worse."  
  
Sparklingly blue eyes narrowed. "You think to command me?" He demanded   
angrily. "You think that you are a match for the entire Order?"  
  
Raye bared her teeth in a vaguely unsettling grin. "I do not think so.   
I know I could kill you, the Death Eaters, Voldemort, and anyone else   
who stood in my way. Be glad then, that I am for the moment on your   
side. Be afraid, because while I will kill for you, I will not die for   
you. You have martyrs, but I am not going to be one. And at the rate   
things are going, I'd suggest you hurry up and find a new Vishnu.   
Because, as things stand, you are going to get your asses kicked to   
Hel and back."  
  
The old man's hair began to waft around him, displaying that he was a   
poor wizard indeed. One who needed to show off to prove his power. Had   
she actually done that once?  
  
"The Prophecy speaks of--"  
  
Raye snorted indelicately. "Prophecies are merely clues as to what may   
happen. They are not absolute, though most times they come true   
because morons like you, who buy into them, fufill the prophecy, and   
thereby make it self-fufilling. I could kill him twenty times over. My   
teacher could kill him a hundred times over, and still not take notice   
of him."  
  
A wary intrest caught in Dumbledore's eye. "Who is your teacher?" He   
asked cautiously. This person could be a great tool... After all,   
every body could be exploited. Maybe this girl would be the leverage   
he would need to obtain her teacher...  
  
Raye's eyes narrowed darkly. "Her... yes, her name is Cais. You will   
not be able to find her. Nor could you use her against me. Or vice   
versa. She... does not like me. And it would be an honor for me to   
kill her."  
  
She hadn't actually known the aged wizard was going to use them   
against each other, but she knew people who would. It was best to nip   
that kind of thing in the bud.  
  
Of course, it was the height of self-confidence to say she could kill   
her teacher. But that had been something the woman had drilled into   
her, be proud of yourself. Because, in the end, that's all you have.  
  
Of course, that had been pretty much the only thing Raye had listened   
to coming out of the older woman's mouth.  
  
Other than the profanity, of course. The woman was amazingly able to   
dish out verbal abuse. A trait that Raye held more reserve in.  
  
"Raye... I must request that you refrain from injuring my students   
further." The old man pleaded.  
  
Raye shrugged indifferently. "Get those two out of my class then. Any   
that remain will be damaged. I'm willing to teach them to survive, and   
it looks like I am the only one willing. Coddle them all you want, then   
send them to their deaths. At my hands, at the Death Eater's hands.   
Dead is dead. I will teach for you, kill for you, but do not make the   
mistake of thinking I will die for you."  
  
With that, Raye stood and exited the chamber.  
  
Dumbledore waited a moment, letting her exit her presumed range of   
hearing, before turning toward the fire. A handful of powder cascaded,   
sparking for a moment before the flames exploded with green.  
  
"Severus Snape!" He bellowed.  
  
As he had been ordered, the man promptly appeared in the fireplace.  
  
"Yes, headmaster?" His silken voice inquired.  
  
"_She_ has just exited my office. Shadow her. If at all possible, use   
Legilmency. Find out who she is, and where she is from." The white   
bearded wizard commanded imperiously.  
  
"It shall be as you command," the sallow face responded, before   
vanishing.  
  
Dumbledore leaned back further in his seat. He would find out who this   
woman was, and he would find out how to bend her to his will. One   
could control anyone. One just needed... Leverage.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0901, January 4._  
  
-------  
  
_DMNWLTFR, ????. 2338, January 4._  
The amplified voice roared over the crowd, most of whom had been   
waiting for this moment for a long time. "Welcome! The first round of   
has begun, and already we have lost many of our own! But their   
sacrifices will be remembered!"  
  
The crowd echoed a roar of approval, and Snape was dragged further   
into the seething mass of bodies.  
  
"And now, the moment you have been waiting for, the final battle of   
the first round!"  
  
A wave of carnal humanity crushed against the cage, screams overwhelming   
the delicate senses of the Professor. He was not cut out for this. He   
was a Potions Master, and he flowered in the cool damp, with a potion   
brewing.  
  
"And now presenting: the shockingly lavender huntress," the announcer   
bellowed, to a howl of approval from the spectators, "Low Key Lyesmith!"  
  
Snape smirked, having been conscripted into this expedition against   
his will. There had actually been some fairly omnious names. Of   
course, they were vastly overused cliches, but thte Death-Eater-turned-  
spy tended to ignore that.  
  
This name, however, was just absurd.  
  
The guttural chant that rose from the crowd, however, was terrifying   
in its intensity, the way it hooked one and reeled them in, regardless   
of one's personal desires. "Low Key, Low Key, Low Key, Low Key, Low   
Key!" There had been no build-up to it, it had just begun from almost   
dead silence in complete unison.  
  
It was a powerful thing, primal in origin, it could have been a   
worship ceremony for a God.  
  
And in a way, it was.  
  
Into the center of the ring stepped Raye. But she was... shockingly   
lavender. Her hair was apparently dyed the light purple, and she had   
discarded her standard white pantsuit, instead donning a pair of   
lavender cargo pants, the same color as her skin was, not-so   
incidentally matching her hair. It took him a moment to realize that   
she was indeed wearing a shirt, the skin-tight tank-top matching her   
skin exactly, revealing that the cold was enough to tease her nipples   
erect.  
  
Her bare feet slid with only slight difficulty across the icy stone,   
slick with frozen blood as it was, her purple toenails invisible   
against her skin. Against the overload of vauge purple, her dancing,   
inverted eyes were almost a relief. The cobalt and onyx eyes would   
have been a comfort, had they not been inverted as they were.   
Presently they just added to the exotic surrealism.  
  
Snape abruptly discovered that he too was chanting, and his jaw   
clamped shut with what might have been an audible click elsewhere. In   
the screaming crowd, however, even Severus himself couldn't hear it.  
  
Beneath, at the center of the concave bowl-like structure, Raye waved   
vaguely in the direction of her lover. Disgusting, Snape observed.   
Women just... should not be involved like that. Further diluting the   
wizarding blood. Severus ignored the fact that he didn't exactly help   
in that area either.  
  
The announcer's voice would have been drowned out, if not for the   
muggle speakers blaring from over the roof of steel bars of the cage.   
Despite the volumious nature of the cavern-like chamber, which was   
large enough to send an agrophobic person into a seizure, the crowd   
was thick enough that spontaneous combustion was a serious worry for   
the greasy-haired professor.  
  
"Brothers!" The man roared, and Severus felt a twinge of his bestial   
rage at the man's audacity. "Welcome the one and only Death of Shadows,"   
the chanting, impossibly, doubled for this new man, and the announcer   
had to wait for the howls to subside, so loud were they that even the   
amplifiers would have paled in comparison, before finishing, "Perio Di   
Ctable!"  
  
A moment of utter silence fell as the competitor slithered out into   
the ring, during which Tonks glanced surreptitiously at her watch.   
Faithful to Dumbledore's observation, the time was twenty miutes   
before midnight. She was unaware that the observation had not been a   
"Dumbledore Original", but rather he had stolen it from a book.  
  
"Let the final match of the Non-Weapons legal deathmatch begin!" With   
that the speakers unleashed their eighteen decible gong, followed by   
the pounding chords of Feuer Frei.  
  
Raye grinned, an open-mouthed thing, her eyes spastically wide, her   
tongue flickering between her spread teeth. Her opponent, a man of   
both uncertain age and ethnic origin (though his name sounded vaugely   
like it was from Spain), grinned back, his lower jaw jutting forward   
and his eyes hooded in an almost sultry manner.  
  
He was built in the approximate size and shape of a coke machine, and   
across the back of his shaven skull a barcode was tattooed. His skin   
was somewhere between ochere and the color of decayed gunpowder,   
giving him a half-rotten look. His eyes were disturbingly light blue,   
to the point at which it was diffucult to tell the difference between   
his irises and his corneas, giving the disquieting illusion that the   
only non-white in his eyes were his pupils. He wore no shirt, showing   
the hairless physique of a bodybuilder, shining in the erratic   
lighting as if his skin was waxed. Around his waist, darker than the   
depths of a cloudy night, hung a belt, though not one typically   
attached to people, instead the kind that ran bullets into a   
stationary minigun. With bullets in it, 30mm precisely. Around his   
legs curled a pair of inky black leather pants, which shone oiled in   
the dark, and reflected offensively when struck by a strobe of light.   
His teeth shone golden--though that was from tartar buildup, rather   
than having been actually made of gold. His hands had the tendency to   
remind people of concrete blocks, with fingers gnarled and unable to   
fully uncurl from intense conditioning.  
  
The combination of his fetid breath, the strobing lighting, and the   
torture of instruments by a German band combined to make an   
intimidating spectacle.  
  
Raye rocked back and forth on her feet, clapping her hands together   
excitedly.  
  
As one of the rather rarely interspersed actual lyrics tore from the   
speakers, both combatants moved, the man drawing what looked something   
like a number two HB pencil from somewhere, and flinging it at Raye,   
who was skittering around the arena, alternating right to left bursts   
as she neared the man, in much the same way that tacking worked. It   
lodged in her pants, and Raye took note of where it was, though she   
otherwise ignored it.  
  
As she neared, one of the man's granite like hands slammed into the   
side of her head, catching her in the midst of a step, sending her   
rolling away from him. Due to the blood-ice on the stones however, she   
didn't stop until she rammed into the cage, crushing the fingers of   
some unfortunate members of the audience, who's screams of agony   
failed to register in anyone's minds other than their own.  
  
Raye stood up, watching blandly as the man lunged at her, trying to   
take her to the ground. It reminded her of something she had seen done   
once, a no-rules fight. The man had dropped his pants, and smacked his   
opponent with his penis. From there things had just gone downhill, and   
the entire thing had just turned into a freaking orgy.  
  
Understandably, therefore, she broke into a laughing fit, and was   
thusly crushed between the box of a man and the bars of the cage,   
which deformed alarmingly.  
  
She continued snickering as other, slightly more twisted 'fight-gone-   
wrong' memories played.  
  
In the mean time, Di was unleashing a chain of punches that kept her   
pressed against the bars, bending them in a way bars were never meant   
to bend.  
  
As the instrument torture drew to a close, and looped into Ich Will,   
Raye finally recovered from her laughing fit, and shoved the next blow   
aside, and whirled away from the man.  
  
As he turned, an idea snuck into the back of her head. Oh, yes, it   
would be somewhat difficult... and it would likely take a while... but   
Gods, would it be worth it. Yeah, she was a fan of pulp.  
  
Distractedly, she took the next blow to her floating rib, and skidded   
backward on the blood-ice, before focusing on the man approaching her   
again. He swung, mindlessly.  
  
Loki, this was getting boring. Was that all the man knew how to do?  
  
She stepped closer to the man, so that his arm whipped behind her   
head, before drawing her close to him in a perversion of an embrace.  
  
Her foot rammed into his knee, bending it sideways, and dropping the   
man to the floor with a grunt.  
  
She hopped back, drawing the pencil from where it was stuck, and   
pinning it in a sort of holster made of the non-weapon she had chosen,   
safety pins.  
  
Then, abruptly, he was lunging for her again, and she dropped,   
sweeping his legs casually from beneath him. She rolled, coming up   
kneeling on his chest, and rammed her thumb and forefinger into his   
eyesockets, feeling a wet squelch as they popped beneath her nails.   
  
She laughed as she bounced back, drawing the pencil, his screams   
opening her target perfectly, also delighting her. There was a breif   
instant in which she glanced upward, looking at the crowd.  
  
And then she lunged again, driving the pencil into the back of his   
mouth, and then through the bone.  
  
She stood, grinning, and began to inspect her nails.  
_DMNWLTFRWR, ????. 2349, January 4._  
  
  
  
taurial--Douglas Adams? I have an idea... mwuhahahaha... ^_^ SEP field   
ahoy!  
  
Queen Remmy--Of course, she's not by that name. You'll have difficulty   
finding "her"...  
  
ReginaLucifer--Hermione got... vastly messsed up in the last chapter.   
Ron, on the other hand, is going to have a little trouble having kids   
now. ^_^  
  
Relle--You don't want to know. Suffice to say, I'm a perv. ^_^ Sounds   
cool. Dumbly's gonna get pissed... But, suffice to say, Snape's gettin   
massively PWNED! M/M: Go Sev/Albus slash! >.> Man, I'm messed up.  
I actually hadn't put that much thought into it, though technically   
Harry has been in a mM relationship (ie: with an older man. Thus the   
capital M).  
  
Mentions: Vishnu is the Hindu god-facet who preserves. As stated previously,   
or rather, alluded to, Raye speaks of the opposing factions as   
'Preservation' and 'Destruction'. Thus, Vishnu. Point, she also speaks   
of Voldemort as Shiva. God-facet of Destruction.  
  
Hel is the Norse underworld.  
  
Perio Di Ctable, Periodictable, Periodic Table. >.>  
  
"You men must understand what it is I call upon you to do. It is no   
glorious battle as you think, where you move like pieces on a game   
board. No tactics to outwit an opponent in a grand engagement. We will   
not face them in the field of battle, but kill them in every other   
way.  
"There is nothing fair about having to fight, the only fair thing   
would be to live in peace. The purpose of war is singular: to kill.  
"You must all understand this, for it is central to your survival.   
"There is no honor in killing, no matter the method. Dead is dead.   
"Killing your enemy in war is done to protect the lives of those for   
whom you fight. Their lives are no better protected by killing your   
enemy sword to sword than by slaying him while he sleeps, but only put   
at risk by it.  
"There is no glory in this task. It's an onerous deed. We do not   
intend to give them a chance to engage in battle, to see who is better   
at the game. Our chore is simply to kill them.  
"If the enemy is looking the other way, so much the better, because   
they will not thrust a knife into you. If it is from a distance with   
an arrow, so much the better, because they will not have a chance to   
impale you on a spear. It it is while they have food in their mouths,   
so much the better, they will not be able to raise an alarm. If it is   
while they are sleeping, so much the better, because they will not   
have the chance to cleave into you with their sword.  
"What we do is done to save the lives of men and women yet alive and   
yet unborn."  
From Stone of Tears. Despite the fact that I utterly loathe Godkind   
(sic) for his superiority complex, I like the speech. Well, sans the   
last paragraph, but whatever.  
  
"Sounds to me like the gazelle sitting in the fields eating grass   
hoping the lion chooses not to kill him and feed his growling belly."  
Solomon Kane.  
  
Feuer Frei is by Rammstein. I reccomend them. The song is, pretty   
much, instruments being tortured by German artists, interspersed with   
lyrics. Though when I say tortured, I mean I have this mental image of   
them putting a drumstick, for instance, through the drum. Ich Will is   
also by Rammstein.  
  
Tacking: it's a boating thing. Don't know much more than that.  
  
How Raye kills Di: Taken from Battle Royale by Koshun Takami.  
  
DMNWLTFR-Death Match Non-Weapons Legal Tournament, First Round.   
(WR-Winner: Raye.) 


	12. Secrets

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**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
  
A/N: I's having hella comp problems. Forgive me. Delayed to hell. My   
computer doth detest FF.N... And I'm skiving off my English to do this.   
I don't like Mr. Wyckoff.   
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 12:  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0859, January 5._  
Dumbledore nodded as the sallow individual in his fireplace finished   
speaking, considering the new information. This was certainly   
interesting. Subtly ironic too, he had asked the woman if she knew Low   
Key Lyesmith. She _was_ Low Key Lyesmith.  
  
He bowed his head, considering whether or not it would be worth it to   
attempt to kill the woman.  
  
"Have you attempted to use your Legilmency on her yet?" He demanded in   
a 'if you give me the wrong answer, I'm going to have to hurt you'   
tone of voice.  
  
The response was slightly greasy, very liquid, and altogether much too   
defiant for Dumbledore's taste. "No."  
  
The man's eyes narrowed angrily. "Do so. And Severus. Nine thirty.   
Leave the door unlocked."  
  
He was gratified to see the trepidation flash across the Potions Master's   
face before the man disappeared.  
  
"We shall see what secrets you hold, woman..." his voice echoed   
throughout the chamber before all sound vanished.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0904, January 5._  
  
-------  
  
_The Leaky Cauldron, London. 0904, January 5._  
Severus stood, dusting his robes off with great care, glad as always   
that Tom had seperate rooms for fire-calling. It would just be   
embarassing to be kneeling in front of the entire patronage of the pub,   
and he had enough of that already. Kneeling, that is.  
  
There was a long moment in which he remained still, considering what   
he was going to do. Yes, he wanted something to use against the woman   
who had thrown him around like a rag doll...  
  
But then again, he had seen the look in her eyes when she had warned   
against the use of Legilmency on her. It hadn't been a look of fear...   
It had been a look of pleading anticipation. She looked like she was   
begging someone to ignore her warning.  
  
And then there was the need of eye contact for Legilmency. She had to   
see that he was there before it would work. And that was something   
else he didn't want to do, attracting her attention was just beneath   
'inform Voldemort that you are a spy' on his list of things he wanted   
to do.  
  
Aside from that, he would have to find her. And that would be rather   
difficult, seeing as he had absolutely no idea where she could be.   
Well, he knew very well where she was, but he was reluctant to enter   
_that _particular place. Especially considering what he suspected would   
be going on there.  
  
Not something he wanted to walk in on.  
  
He considered other options. Not obey Dumbledore, and try to fool the   
skilled Legilmencer. Putting up Occlumency barriers would not help,   
the old man would know that meant the younger wizard had something to   
hide. Disobedience would anger the man.  
  
And angering Dumbledore ranked at the same level as angering the woman   
he had been sent to spy on in the aforementioned list.  
  
Suicide. Now _there_ was an idea. It might actually be the best option   
of all. Indeed, upon further introspection, Severus resolved that,   
should he find no time to break into the woman's mind, that would be   
his course of action.  
  
At last he moaned, and decided that today must be a thursday. He had   
never really gotten the hang of thursdays.  
_The Leaky Cauldron, London. 0934, January 5._  
  
-------  
  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1158, January 5._  
Raye cringed as she looked around the damaged room. Shredded clothes   
lay discarded around the room, in places she didn't remember putting   
them. For instance, what looked like part of a pair of panties was   
lying on top of a bookshelf. Her pantsuit was, of course, undamaged,   
though it was also scattered about, her shirt dangling from a corner   
of the bed, and her pants hanging over the doorknob. Her undergarments,   
on the other hand, had not fared better than her lover's, and she was   
having trouble identifying them.  
  
Tonks, she observed brilliantly as she surveyed the rather annihilated   
headboard, is going to kill me. The handcuffs around her wrists still   
had the eyerings attached, and were still buried in chunks of wood.   
And not cleanly, she continued as she noted the way that anything   
glass in the room had been broken. The carpet had long furrows dug in   
it, and the bed was a good two feet further away from the door than it   
had been.  
  
She looked at the holes in the walls, where in the brief tussle for it   
her magnum had discharged several times. Dead as a doornail, she   
thought. Several gashes lined the sheets, where nails, claws, and her   
boot-knife had been brought into play in a struggle for dominance.  
  
Speaking of her boots, one of them was halfway through the door, and   
the other one was on the couch.  
  
Almost before she thought to wonder where it was, she noted the six   
inch knife sticking out of the fan, where it had evidentally stuck   
when she had knocked it out of Tonks' hand. The fan wasn't working   
anymore, which was evidentally what had roused her out of sleep, well   
it was that or fact that the air conditioning wasn't working so well.  
  
She considered what had happened to her gun, wondering at the   
possibility of it having been thrown out the window, which was broken,   
and been stolen. No, she decided. It had not been flung out the window,   
that had been her hairpin. Possibly it was under the bed? Possibly,   
she didn't know whether or not to check. Checking would involve   
standing, and she wasn't sure whether or not she could actually get   
off the floor yet, especially with Tonks lying across her back the way   
she was.  
  
And then she felt the muzzle of the weapon press against the base of   
her skull. A low, husky voice in her ear drew a shiver from her, and   
an involuntary moan of desire escaped her lips at the words. "You've   
been a bad girl... You know what bad girls get, don't you?"  
  
Shortly thereafter, several screams echoed throughout the apartment.  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1229, January 5._  
  
-------  
  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1702, January 5._  
Raye sat on the wooden stool, gazing curiously across the table over a   
ceramic mug of coffee. She tilted her head as she attempted to come to   
terms with what the woman across from her had said.  
  
"_What_?" She demanded, surprised.  
  
Tonks' malicious grin spoke a thousand words. "I said, your clothing   
privileges have been revoked. You are going to wander around naked all   
week in penance for my room. And you're going to pay for the repairs."  
  
Raye's forehead smacked into the table as she shifted uncomfortably, the   
wood chafing her bare ass as much as anything chafed her. That was an...   
interesting form of revenge.  
  
A thought crossed her mind and she grinned broadly. "Well, I am sure   
my students will appreciate that."  
  
Tonks nodded sagely. "I imagine they will. Now, you know I can't let   
you just give anyone a free show... I have a list of what you're   
allowed to wear outside the house. But that's all you get to wear,   
understand?"  
  
Raye nodded approvingly. "Yes, your Divine Omnipotence. I bow before   
your infinite wisdom."  
  
Tonks smirked at the slam-honorific. "Good. Always remember that."  
  
Well, it seemed that Tonks had picked up some of Raye's superiority   
complex. Worth a laugh or two, and a congradulations from her 'tutor'   
in that particular subject.  
  
Raye sniggered. It was a fairly disturbing sight, mostly because even   
though her face contorted, no lines of folded flesh appeared. It   
looked less like she had twisted her face, and more like her face had   
restructured itself.  
  
That, of course, was impossible. She wasn't a metamorphamagus, after   
all.  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. 1712, January 5._  
  
-------  
  
_The Leaky Cauldron, London. 1821, January 5._  
Snape cringed as both Raye and her woman walked in the door. It wasn't   
so much that he was scared of them, as he had really been looking   
forward to suicide. He was getting tired. And he really didn't want   
to attempt to keep up his charades any longer.  
  
And there was the small fact that Raye was wearing nothing but a white   
two-piece string bikini. That was a slight problem. If she were to   
abruptly fall over, like most people did when Legilmency was brought   
into play, people would notice. Incidentally, the particular choice of   
armor against the world revealed that she shaved in some rather _unusual_   
places.   
He glared at the back of her head. She seemed to notice this, and   
turned to look at him through the smoky air of the tavern. Without his   
mind's consent, he whispered, "_Legilmens..._"  
_The Leaky Cauldron, London. 1824, January 5._  
  
-------  
  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
Snape found himself standing in the center of a dome-like room,   
looking around curiously. Before he had completed his inspection,   
however, his head stopped moving against his will. He tried to force   
the insuboordinate body to obey him, to find that, to his horror, he   
was more helpless than a baby before his own wand.  
  
When a voice spoke in a cool tenor accompanied by a sharp British   
accent, he tried to turn to find the source of the voice. His body   
disobeyed again.   
He stopped, however, as he felt the vibration coming from his own   
throat. "So, who are you?"  
  
What? He wondered as he glanced downward. Though the gaze swept over   
it and turned away, for the instant it passed over the back of the   
right hand, Snape's vision caught on the marks there.  
  
Several scars, and one half-healed one.  
  
_I will not tell lies._  
  
  
  
Regina Lucifer--Snape is going to get owned. Bad.  
  
Relle--O_o... that's a little... twisted. o_O Anyway, with one Charlie   
Weasley. For about two months. Thus the nickname 'Cha'.  
  
panuru4u--Harry's still here. Closer than you might think perhaps.   
Hiding in plain sight, as it were.  
  
annoying reviewer--just die.  
  
yuck--nice to know I can be flamed by someone who has not only not   
written anything, but can't be bothered to come up with anything more   
interesting or intelligent than, "story sucks, big time" after the   
second chapter. Indeed, when one considers that large warning at the   
top of each chapter it's almost like you... can't read!  
  



	13. Minds

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**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
  
A/N: I's having hella comp problems. Forgive me. Delayed to hell. My   
computer doth detest FF.N... And I'm skiving off my English to do this.   
I don't like Mr. Wyckoff.   
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female. Quite probable threesome   
relationship between any of the above.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 13:  
  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
Severus gave the mental equivalent of a confused blink. That scar   
looked strangely familiar, though he couldn't place it. It was like it   
was something he'd seen often enough that he had stopped seeing it...  
  
Preposterous. He was a spy, trained to notice _all_ details, no matter   
how small or insignificant. Obviously he had never seen it before.   
Certainly he would recognize it if he had.  
  
His vision slowly turned toward the newest occupant of the room,   
evidently having detected the entrance by the sound of it alone.  
  
This was not right. Severus had been looking for memories of Raye's   
childhood. Clearly this was a male's body, and therefore not her.   
Obviously there was a mistake here. Perhaps her memory had been   
modified?  
  
A second possibility slowly insinuated itself into Snape's thoughts.   
What if this was a memory she had created? What if this was a memory   
that she used to trap Legilmencers? It would make a certain amount of   
sense, but... creating a memory with this level of detail would be   
almost impossible. Perhaps then, it was a memory that she had stolen   
from someone else? Perhaps a pensive had yeilded this...  
  
But then, why was he seeing this from _inside_ the viewer?  
  
This train of thought was interrupted at the first sight of the   
intruder.  
  
It was difficult to say whether the person was a boy or a girl, for   
the intruder had a slender figure that seemed to slither rather than   
walk, hair cropped just long enough that one lock fell far enough that   
the child-like person could suck on it, and yet it, for Severus could   
think of no other word to describe the being as, was not wearing a   
shirt, revealing that its chest was a mass of scarred flesh, rather   
like someone had taken a flamethrower and splashed it with gasoline   
before actually using the weapon.  
  
A delighted grin spread from the center of the creature's mouth to its   
left cheek, revealing a light dimple. In a perfectly expressionless,   
yet terribly excited tone of voice, the response shredded the air. "I,   
me, myself... call me Neko!"  
  
Neko's chest shone as he--she?--stepped further into the room,   
clarifying that rather than one solid scar, it was uncountable fiber-  
thin scars, almost as if it were a mesh shirt.  
  
"You isa comins wit me. We's gonna judge you fo' Ange-hood. Wassyer   
name?"  
  
Snape mentally curled his lips into a derisive sneer. He already hated   
this travesty of a man, and the man had said less than twenty words to   
him. Whoever owned the body he was in, at least.  
  
This was getting confusing, he observed. For lack of a better idea, he   
decided to call the body he was inhabiting, 'Lie'.  
  
Lie tilted his head to the side. "I do not see how that matters."  
  
Neko smiled wider, revealing jaggedly broken, urine-yellow teeth.   
"Good! Likiies you!"  
  
Freak, Severus thought unkindly.  
  
"Right." Lie agreed. "If you say so."  
  
A pout appeared on the left side of the Neko's face. "Awww... it has   
no wit."  
  
Severus watched as the room bounced as Lie nodded agreeably. Amazing.   
this person was stupid enough to admit his (or her) inferiority to a   
possible enemy.  
  
He deliberately ignored the scent emanating from Neko's body.  
  
Neko turned around and almost seemed to insinuate himself more than   
anything else out into the hallway. Lie followed, inserting his hand   
into the pocket of his short jacket, gripping the weapon there. The   
left hand caressed the second portion of the weapon inside the pocket   
of the khaki pants it wore.  
  
It was a long time before anything else happened.  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
  
-------  
  
_The Leaky Cauldron, London. 1824, January 5._  
Raye nodded at the motionless body of the greasy one, feeling the   
probing touch of his mind as it investigated hers. She turned away,   
aware of what was happening to him.  
  
Absently she fingered the ring on her right hand. The metal was dull,   
corroded, and mangled from age. The edges of the convex, centimeter-  
wide band of metal dug into her skin, and not for the first time she   
marveled at the fact that it still held the vague shape of a ring.  
  
Tonks tapped her bare shoulder, calling her attention back from the   
breif musing. "You all right?"  
  
Raye blinked a few times, then, puzzled, tilted her head to the right.   
"Have I given cause to not be?"  
_The Leaky Cauldron, London. 1826, January 5._  
  
-------  
  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
Lie blinked awkwardly. "Um... what?" He asked, unconciously echoing   
Snape's thoughts. Though, Severus considered, he was technically the   
one echoing the memory. After all, he was the intruder.  
  
Neko rolled his eyes. "Odin sev' meh. I aske' if yeh wante' ter be an   
Ange er not."  
  
Snape was equally confused and annoyed. This man-thing was becoming   
vastly irritating, he refused to give a straight answer, he point-  
blank denied any requests, and it was nearly painful for Severus to   
look at him, as one who valued the perfection of his body so much.   
  
"An Ange being what now?" Lie inquired.  
  
The disfigured visage that was Neko managed to goggle. "Yeh dinnae   
know whae we ar'?"  
  
The world bobbed as Lie nodded agreeably. "That would be the logical   
assumption." Privately Snape agreed, though he personally opined that   
Lie would have been a Gryffindor had he gone to Hogwarts. He obviously   
didn't have the subtlety of a Slytherin, nor the intellect of a Ravenclaw.  
  
The mauled body dropped the affected accent, now speaking in crisp,   
vaguely French, vaguely Russian English. "Why did they send _me_ to get   
this flesh-packet? Surely they would not have done this to anyone   
else..."  
  
The world bobbed again. "Obviously they hate you. Is it because of the   
way you look? Maybe the way you speak, or perhaps your generally idiotic   
mannerisms?"  
  
The left side of Neko's mouth twisted angrily. "I can look however I   
Forsaken well choose to! Because I do not affect a false perfection   
they despise me? I am still one of the Sixteen!"  
  
The world shuttered as Lie blinked, and Severus felt himself almost   
sympathizing with the desecrated man.  
  
Almost.  
  
"That was interesting, Neko..." A silken voice echoed out from behind   
Lie, and the world streaked past as the body whirled, while Severus   
fought the urge to retch, though what a 'technicolor burp' would   
consist of here was up for debate, as he was seized by a sensation of   
motion sickness.  
  
The woman he found there was certainly one of the more welcome sights   
he had seen in quite a long time. Though he was firmly bound to the   
old wizard, that didn't mean his eyes weren't allowed to wander.  
  
Her hair was long enough that the ponytail it was drawn back into   
could fall over her shoulder, and drape down the front of her body.   
Her eyes, the color of molten steel, shone out from underneath thinly   
sculpted eyebrows, the same platinum as her hair. Her vaguely-rounded   
nose hovered over a pair of full vermillion lips, which were framed by   
a smoothly sloping jaw, with a backdrop of skin so white it was almost   
blue. Her clothing reflected light brightly, the mirrored surface   
flowing like a river over her body, though the shirt hung blockily, as   
if she was wearing some sort of body armor beneath it. Her fingers   
tapered delicately, tipped with nails cropped short enough that   
Severus was shocked that so close a cut could be managed. Around her   
waist was tied a red jacket, and a suspicious bulge in one of the   
pockets suggested to the disembodied -- or rather, wrongly embodied --   
man that she was armed.  
  
She stepped up to him, and for an instant Severus thought she had to   
be at least seven feet tall, before he remembered that this was not   
his body.  
  
"Come on, Cais..." The one calling himself Neko pleaded. "You know   
I like to play with the new arrivals."  
  
This Cais woman, twitched an eyebrow at the man.  
  
"Hurry up. We do not have that long to deal with this. The Two are   
preparing to launch an assault on the Second. I have to agree with   
them, seventeen is too many."  
  
The world shuttered. "What?" Severus felt the rumble begin in the   
throat of the body he was currently occupying.  
  
"Assume your form already. You know we detest waiting."  
  
Neko shrugged. "Nah. I will leave this one in your tender care. He is   
beginning to irritate me. Besides, my aid is not needed for the   
decision. Seventeen _is_ too many."  
  
"That is the general feeling. Well then, I shall be sure to inform   
the rest of your opinion."  
  
Severus raged inwardly at the dismissal. How dare they dismiss him! He   
was a first-class wizard, a potions master no less! They had no right   
to dismiss him!  
  
Evidentally Lie felt otherwise, as he seemed to shrink into himself.   
  
"Come small one. Unless this statement applies to you: Sterben, Sie,   
das schmutzige Hosen haben!"  
  
A bewildered Snape stared out of the body of an equally bewildered   
host body. "What?"  
  
"No then. Come along."  
  
Lie obeyed unquestioningly. Once again Severus ignored the scent that   
permeated the air around the woman.  
  
Blood. And pain.  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 2040, January 5._  
The groggy group of students stumbled around the room, some of them   
more distracted by others by their Teacher's choice of attire. Raye   
nodded in satisfaction as an idea occurred to her. An object lesson   
it would be.  
  
"This is pathetic. Eight forty and you are all tired already? You have   
only been under my tender care for two-thirds of an hour!"  
  
Then again, it did usually only take half an hour before they ran away   
in fear. She was being lazy.  
  
What the hell, she thought. They are going to knock me down some time   
this month. After that she could get down to buisness, instead of this   
playing. Tonks would appreciate the results of that.  
  
A subconcious predatory instinct tilted Raye's head away from the   
light, casting shadows over her face, letting her inverted eyes   
glitter as the retinas reflected. That would be fun...  
  
But, this first!  
  
"Wilkes! Front and center!" She barked.  
  
The boy stumbled forward, tripping over a fragment of desk. Raye had   
refused to let the room be cleaned up, on the principle that hazards   
made fighting more fun.  
  
"Are you ready?" She inquired, delicately.  
  
"Yes ma'am." He murmured softly. Raye smiled brightly, deciding that   
the innocently clumsy show he was putting on was just that -- show. It   
was a great technique, make your opponent underestimate you.  
  
Raye shrugged. "Let's start then, shall we?"  
  
Without futher ado, she rolled across the wooden splinters and metal   
shards, avoiding the first curse that blasted a hole in the desk she   
had appropriated for her seat. She unleashed a barrage of profanity   
at the destruction of her desk, and turned toward the boy, a rather   
irritated look crossing her features.  
  
Normally she would have let him off with a couple slaps. The desk,   
however, demanded retribution.  
  
So, she lunged, dropping her left shoulder to let a curse flash above   
it, and then rolling forward to let a second evaporate against the   
floor behind her. At some point during the roll she snatched up a   
piece of wood, long, sharp, and stake-like, which she flung at the   
still-cursing boy. He tried to dodge it, and he nearly did.   
Unfortunately for him, she had been aiming for his heart, so his step   
to his left took him into the path of the flying projectile, rather   
than away from it. Equally fortunately for him, he was left-handed, so   
he wouldn't be totally incapacitated, unlike some of his fellows who   
had taken injuries to their primary arm.  
  
The splintry pieice of wood stabbed deep into his right shoulder, and   
he looked at it curiously for a moment, at the blood falling from it   
to streak down his arm and side, and then shrugged as best he was able   
with but one arm.  
  
His wand came up again, and instead of a curse, he mumbled, "_Incendio_,"  
blandly. The spell caught the desk next to Raye, lighting it on fire.  
  
Against some people this might have been a good thing. Against Raye,   
however, it was a Really Bad Idea, something so ominously bad it did   
deserve capitals.  
  
Raye grinned gratefully at him, and ripped a staff off the burning   
desk, making sure it was well lit. Then, bobbing and weaving to avoid   
the curses being flung at her, she began to advance.  
  
Though it took her several minutes, she got close enough, and swung   
the flaming length of pinewood into the side of the child's head,   
shattering the staff into a spray of conflagration, setting the   
younger man's clothes on fire.  
  
She saw the light flare in his eyes an instant before he stood back   
up and rammed his fist into her face with the approximate force of a   
jackhammer on concrete. The effects, however, were far different. He   
had, unfortunately, shattered his thumb from the poorly-made fist,   
broken all four of his knuckles, and fractured his wrist.  
  
Raye looked curiously at the hand partially embedded in her face,   
before reaching up and grabbing it. She wrenched, hard, and finished   
breaking the numerous bones in his wrist, before slamming him to the   
floor in a disused heap.  
  
She knelt cautiously, pressing a pair of fingers to his throat to   
check for a pulse. There was none.  
  
Which was unusual, considering the rise and fall of his chest, and the   
blood pouring freely from his shoulder.  
  
Freely?  
  
She checked again. Yes, freely. A river, not a geyser. Whatever this   
thing was, it had no heartbeat. Ergo, it had no pulse. Ergo, it was   
not human.  
  
"Fetch someone," she ordered, more curious as to what the thing lying   
at her feet was than worried about its safety.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 2059, January 5._  
  
-------  
  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
The world turned slowly as Lie looked around the room, dragging Snape's   
vision along with his own. Severus cursed his host to the depths of   
hell and back, demanding of Om that he strike this person down with   
holy thunderbolts and cast his ashes to the northern winds.  
  
Om, of course, paid no heed to the desperate plea. He had better   
things to do. And more pertinent ones, concerning the buxom blonde   
that was on his lap at the moment.  
  
Of which Severus knew nothing, and therefore kept his string of   
damnings up.  
  
"Well?" Echoed a voice Snape didn't remember the name of.  
  
Lie nodded. "Sure. Why not?"  
  
There was no murmur of assent, but there was no murmur of dissent   
either, so Severus figured it balanced out in the end. Or would have,   
had he been caring about such things at the moment.  
  
Instead, he was more concerned with his roaring headache, a gift from   
the God of Hangovers. Words could not have described how happy that   
particular diety had been to discover there was someone he could shunt   
his pain off to.  
  
Cais stepped forward. "I will do it. Last one just died on me, so   
we have need of a new pupil."  
  
And with that, Lie's fate was sealed.  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
  
  
  
  
Kitten Rebecca--Give the lady a cookie. Harry even calls himself Raye,   
as seen when he slaughters all the MoM dudes.  
  
A reviewer--You must die in some torturous way.  
  
Relle--Happy birthday!...? Snape is going to be unhappy, suffice to   
say. And now that you're seventeen, you should go buy Battle Royale.   
yes, I'm plugging that everywhere I can, 'cos it deserves it. Have to   
import it though.  
  
annoying reviewer--Look, it's a simple concept for anyone with half a   
brain to grasp. You don't tell me what to do. Stifle you, Sterben Sie.   
And if you're going to try and tell me what to do, learn about a   
little thing we like to call "puncutation".   
mistik-elf13--A-ha! I see. Tacking. Coolness. Snape'll come out... in   
one way or another. And no, Snape don't connect it.  
  
Eihwaz and Lourdaise--Oh, dear god have mercy! E-z-listening music!   
Spare us!  
  
Final notes: I've added something to the Warning. Threesome warning,   
to be exact. Yeah. Not only is it homosexual, it's threesome   
homosexual. Which makes me wonder: the bible says nothing about   
polygamy, so why do religious enthusiasts think it's wrong? 


	14. Trial

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**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
  
A/N: I's having hella comp problems. Forgive me. Delayed to hell. My   
computer doth detest FF.N... And I'm skiving off my English to do this.   
I don't like Mr. Wyckoff.   
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female. Quite probable threesome   
relationship between any of the above.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 14:  
  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
Severus watched curiously as Lie extended his hand upon request. He   
noted the ring adorning the ring finger, a simple, plain metal band   
that no one would have thought different from any other, save that it   
had nothing on it.  
  
When Lie started to bring the hand back, he looked on in confusion.   
Why would he disobey after such a show of obedience?  
  
It was when the other hand started to pull the ring off that he started   
to realize why he was. Even if it had no significance to anyone else,   
evidently his host wanted the ring.  
  
"No. Leave it there." Cais ordered, contentment underlying her words.   
  
The world bounced, and Lie extended his hand again.  
  
The platinum-haired woman traced the scars on the back of the hand,   
tilting her head as she did so. "What does it mean?" She inquired.  
  
Lie's tenor responded automatically. "I will not tell lies. Someone   
thought I was lying when I was not. I had to write with something that   
drew blood from my hand to use for ink."  
  
Cais nodded musingly. "Interesting concept... hmm..."  
  
Lie mumbled something in agreement, and fell silent, waiting for   
further instructions. They were not long in coming.  
  
"Place your hand here," the woman ordered, indicating something that   
bore startling similarity to a pair of rolling pins pressed against   
each other.  
  
Lie stared at it for a moment, before Severus thought he could detect   
a slight smile spreading across their face.  
  
Blocky fingertips pressed against the crack between the pins, and a   
beep echoed through the mostly Spartan room.  
  
The next thing Snape knew was pleasure of an almost orgasmic intensity   
as Lie's mind fed his own sensation, though his own mind supplied a   
shriek of agony as the pins began to roll over the hand, crushing bone   
and pulping muscle.  
  
An instant--an eternity later, Lie fell to his knees as the pins   
cylinders reached his wrist and reversed course. The sensations began   
again anew, though Snape found this to be more agonizing than the first   
time it had stroked the flesh.  
  
His hand came free, and Lie held the mangled member in front of his   
face, gazing through eyes almost crippled with ecstasy. The fingers   
were unrecognizable, other than by the shards of bone sticking out at   
odd angles, and the mutilated fingernails at the tips of the leftover   
flesh. Blood had sprayed up his arm when it had been shoved away from   
the pins, and ended up bursting the vein. Indeed, his heavily belted   
pants also bore a layer of the viscous fluid. As did the once-grey   
shirt. Perhaps the most disturbing part of the macabre spectacle was   
the way the ring had nearly severed the finger it adorned, and might   
have been the only thing holding the digit on. The inflictor, the   
preserver.  
  
Such wicked irony.  
  
Cais turned away, unable to disguise the smile that had spread across   
her full lips at the sound that had echoed from the boy's lips.  
  
"Now fix it." She ordered as she left the room. That had left her   
surprisingly aroused, and that made her uncomfortable. She'd have to   
do something to remedy the problem.  
  
"Ah," she murmured as she remembered something. "Until you do fix that,   
the room will be periodically shocked a low level electric current.   
I doubt there is much left in your head _to_ scramble, but if you do not   
work quickly, you will not be sentient much longer."  
  
The door shut with a welcome finality, and Snape's mind was at liberty   
to concentrate solely on the spikes of agony-pleasure the hand   
unleashed on his own.  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0521, January 6._  
"What _was_ that thing?" Was the question that was generally the   
most prominent in the minds of the Order members.  
  
Raye leaned against the wall of the chaotic room, her legs folded   
at the knee, one ankle on top of the other, each foot under the opposite   
thigh. Her eyes rested closed serenely, in comparison to the madness   
of activity in the rest of the room.  
  
Her hands rested on the floor, in each cupped palm a pool of blood   
from the no-longer moving corpse lying several feet away, a tide of   
blood spreading outward from where the shoulder had been impaled, and   
the head severed. The head itself rested across the room, where the   
albino-like woman had flung it after tearing it free.  
  
The resistance offered by the neck had told her all she needed to know   
to determine what the thing had been.  
  
Of course, no one bothered to ask her what it was, so she didn't say.   
Volunteering for something that didn't involve bloodshed wasn't her   
way.  
  
It was long minutes before she rose, pouring the contents of her right   
hand into her left, watching as the crimson fell freely from her hand,   
falling as if from a pane of glass, leaving no residue. How could it?   
There were no lines on her palm for it to catch in.  
  
She calmly bottled the liquid, shoved the bottle into the band of her   
bikini bottom, and started out of the room.  
  
To be stopped by a semi-irate McGonagall. "What happened here?" She   
demanded, her voice strained and cracking with suppressed fury.  
  
Raye blinked lazily as she looked at the taller woman. "I was just   
going to inform Vector of a slight problem with her scrutinty of her   
house. You will find out if you follow. If not, go fetch the old one   
and attend."  
  
McGonagall refused to be satisfied with the answer. "Tell me, or I   
will not allow you to leave!"  
  
Pale eyelids narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Stand aside woman." She   
snapped quickly. She had patience, yes. She could sit for days on end,   
waiting for someone to step into her crosshairs.  
  
The one thing she could not stand, however, was old people who looked   
old, and acted like it made them better.  
  
The wrinkled woman glared at her, fury lining the corners of her mouth.   
"No."  
  
Raye's hand lashed out, the back impacting the side of the woman's   
face, sending her to the floor.  
  
"One warning." She mumbled, and exited.  
  
Unfortunately for her, the old woman was shortly stepped on several   
times as the body started to feel around for the missing head, and   
people darted away from it in a mad rush.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0549, January 6._  
  
-------  
  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
Cais glanced through the one-way window as another gasp rent the still   
air of the complex.  
  
"Taking a while, is he not?" Mumbled a voice behind her.  
  
"Euri... I believe it took you what, a year?" She responded blithely,   
making sure her amusement was evident in her voice. "You needed to   
repeat--what six times?--before you figured it out."  
  
The scowl was equally audible. "I finished the rest in record time,   
you know."  
  
"I'm not denying that. But you do know he is going to kill you, right?"  
  
Euri glanced through the window. "He is welcome to try. I expect Isis   
will be happy to meet him."  
  
Cais gave him a skeptical look. "Still on about that feather, are you   
not?"  
  
Euri's shoulder bounced off the wall with his reply. "I suppose. I   
still say it has to be one hell of a feather."  
  
Full lips twitched. "Come on now. He has only spent a few in there. He   
is doing better than most."  
  
Euri nodded, his head bouncing off the transparent surface. "You know   
as well as I do. The nail that stands above the rest..."  
  
She finished the sentence for him. "... is the one that gets hammered   
down. Remember, that is my job. Not yours."  
  
The man pouted. "Awww... My little one is giving me no excuses to   
pound. He is boring..."  
  
An amused laugh echoed through the hall. "So, yours is a he now?"  
  
Euri blushed. "Yes."  
  
"That is so sweet!" Cais exclaimed. "You fell for it!"  
  
Euri's ears literally burst into flame, which he slapped in an attempt   
to put out. That was a tendency he hadn't quite got over since his   
master had inflicted it upon him.  
  
Severus shrieked as best he could as another shock of Thor's gift   
shattered his senses. Even through the excruciating agony of the   
electricity frying Lie's, and by extension, his own, nerves, he could   
feel the hardness of the boy's erection pressing against his stomach   
as he curled into a ball.  
  
The consciousness once known as Severus Snape was loosing his battle.   
The duality of sensations from everything was slowly, but strongly   
tugging at his mind, beckoning it into the deep, peaceful darkness.   
  
And he was slowly beginning to think it might be a good idea.  
  
He had long ago, years--days? minutes?--ago, lost track of how long   
it had been since the mauling of the hand.  
  
Slowly a scattered thought peiced itself together. Could she have   
made a memory... like this?...  
  
His responding thought was slow and long in coming, as just before it   
completed forming, another electric current rent his thoughts apart,   
and black encroached the edges of his vision as the back of Lie's head   
rammed into the metal floor as the muscles in his back hyper-contracted   
with the energy pulsating through them.  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
  
-------  
  
_Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts. 0603, January 6._  
"So, Miss--" The aged wizard was cut off by the sharp look, promising   
retribution should he finish that statement. "Raye'rok," he amended   
hastily. "You claim to know what this thing was?" He inquired,   
remarkably delicately considering the corpse lying at his feet. The   
head, which had been blinking at the time, Raye had taken upon herself   
to squash in much the same way she squashed a cockroach.  
  
Raye nodded, absently running a hand through the azure bob-cut of hair   
decorating her scalp.  
  
"It... was a reanimated corpse." She affirmed.  
  
The thing was disturbing to her. Not scary, but disturbing. It had   
been dead. And then it had stood back up. That was something she was   
most emphatically not used to. Dead things stayed dead.  
  
Then again, typically she didn't see much of a corpse anyway.  
  
"Someone brought it back to life?" The man demanded sharply.  
  
"No..." Raye shook her head slowly, trying to ignore the occasional   
spasm from the headless body. "I said reanimated, not revived. It was   
a... puppet. It was--and still is--being controlled by the magic--or   
science--of whoever brought it back. The head was the focal point, so   
when I dealt with that, it died. Again."  
  
McGonagall broke in, bandaged and casted as she was, "So it's really   
dead now?"  
  
Raye shook her head again. "I think it was magically done. If so, the   
magic will find a new focal point soon enough. Then it will not matter   
that the head is gone."  
  
Sharp, peircing blue eyes looked at her. "How long will this continue?"  
  
Raye looked back, sheilding her eyes with her hand. "No legilmency,"   
she reminded the man before continuing. "It will continue forever.   
Should the focal point become a finger, it will attempt to stuff   
itself down someone's throat. My advice: Burn it, launch the ashes   
into the sun, and then figure out who the reanimator is."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Raye looked at the man curiously. "Because, this boy was either dead   
for two days, reanimated, and died at my hands, or he was killed, then   
revived, and has been among your number for two years. Or some length   
of time splitting that."  
  
The eyes of one Flitwick widened considerably. "How do you know so   
much about this?" He asked, nearly bouncing in his seat.  
  
Raye shrugged. "Seen it before. It managed to kill a few people before   
I returned the favor. It killed a few more people before I figured it   
out."  
  
The arm of the corpse lifted, and scrabbled around on the floor during   
the few moments it took for Raye to shove her arm through it's chest.  
  
"Typically," she continued as if nothing had happened, though she was   
answering the questioning gazes, "the magic latches on to the strongest   
remaing life source. Head, then heart, then the rest of the major   
organs."  
  
She kicked the body, and then turned to walk away. "Now, I am late for   
something. I might come back, I might not. If I do not, I did not   
deserve to. So, take care!"  
_Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts. 0614, January 6._  
  
  
  
  
Relle--Bwuhahahaha... late for classes? Yep. 'Tis what Raye considers   
his/her birth. Understand: Snape is already out of Raye's head if it   
is told with an actual location/time/date. Not that he's much use to   
anyone, but... the rest is back to within Raye's head. All of that   
happened really, really dang fast. His body is, at the moment of the   
end of chapter thirteen outside, being restrained in St. Mungo's,   
frothing at the mouth. And that's another thing, it can't be called   
_Saint_ Mungo's, 'cos to be a saint you have to be cannonized by   
the church, and there's no saint Mungo. I rant again. Battle Royale is   
about a bunch of ninth-graders in Japan, who are put on an island to   
kill each other as part of a Program put in place by a merciless   
dictatorship. Several current Threesome possibilites, the most likely   
being Raye/Harry+Tonks+Luna, then Ron+Hermione+Ginny (I'm a sick   
bastard), then Remus+Ameila+Lockhart. >.>  
  
ReginaLucifer--happy birthday then. Bonne Anne and all that rot. ^_^   
Thing being Ange or Neko? Ange don't get an explanation yet, Neko's   
just one who likes to toy with the heads of potentials. Or the thing   
Raye dealt with? 


	15. Questions

0123456789012345678901234567890123456789012345678901234567890123456789 

**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
  
A/N: I's having hella comp problems. Forgive me. Delayed to hell. My   
computer doth detest FF.N... And I'm skiving off my English to do this.   
I don't like Mr. Wyckoff.   
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female. Quite probable threesome   
relationship between any of the above.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 15:  
  
_????, London. 0622, January 6._  
Luna gazed curiously around the park. It was strangely reminiscent of   
the Forbidden Forest, though without all the danger.  
  
Upon considering the corpses at her feet, she revised that thought. It   
was like the Forbidden Forest, but without the magic fouling the air.  
  
She crouched, the wand behind her ear casting a pale light over the   
closest corpse. Indelicately she prodded it, offhandedly observing the   
way it nearly fell apart at her touch.  
  
"Luna," greeted a voice from somewhere behind and to her left.  
  
The girl nodded cheerfully. "Hello Raye..." She offered in return.  
  
There was a moment in which neither of them spoke as Raye finished   
closing the distance between them. Luna shuffled upright, her head   
lolling pleasantly as she took in the surrounding forest, storing the   
image in her memory for later perusal.  
  
A limp copy of the Quibbler made its way from her pocket to her hand,   
and she began to flick through it as she waited for something to   
happen.  
  
"If I said I could end the war tomorrow, what would you say?"  
  
Luna's large, pale eyes slowly trailed over to the woman. Their eyes   
did not meet, as the inverted pair were staring at something in the   
canopy of leaves overhead.  
  
"I expect something like, 'please don't kill me'."  
172.194.146.58   
The somewhat off-color, yet surprisingly insightful answer drew a   
snort of laughter from the pale woman.  
  
"Best answer I have yet heard." She mused through her bout of   
amusement.  
  
"Was that all?" Luna looked back down at the Quibbler.  
  
"No. If I said I could give you the power to kill your enemy, what would   
you say?"  
  
There was an extended silence, during which Luna flicked through the   
worn pages of the paper, not paying all that much attention to it.  
  
"How?" She finally decided was not only neutral answer, but also an   
accurate one.  
  
"I could make you like me." The woman leaned against an aged tree.   
"Of course, that depends on whether or not you like pain."  
  
"Pain?" The girl asked curiously. "What kind of pain?"  
  
Raye glanced at Luna, who was still paging through the Quibbler. "All   
kinds of pain. Physical, Emotional, everything."  
  
Emotional pain was the easiest to deal with, in Luna's opinion. Or   
rather, the least problematic. She hadn't felt that sort of pain in...   
Well, ever actually.  
  
Physical pain was a tiny bit different. It didn't bother her as much   
as it might, but it wasn't exactly all that easy to deal with either.   
It was just... there.  
  
"Pain is pain. It just is. I don't feel anything in particular about   
it."  
  
Raye nodded. "Good enough, I suppose. Do you want to be like me?"  
  
Luna tilted her head curiously. "Like what?" she inquired, finally   
looking away from the paper.  
  
Raye thought for a moment. "I will give a demonstration. Keep it in   
mind, it is not all we are, but it might save your life some day."   
Then again, she thought, you might merely use it to amuse yourself.   
That was, after all, how she had used it.  
  
She had no need to remove her shirt and pants, seeing as she was still   
in the white bikini, so she remembered.  
  
Her neck arched, her face locking into an impression of an agonized   
rictus. Her ears lengthened, tapering wildly away from her head as her   
flesh darkened in color, settling on an ebony hue. Her eyes, including   
her cornea and pupil, flushed a burning vermilion. Almost at the same   
instant, the lower part of her face bulged outward, forming a short   
snout with her bared teeth--now fangs--exposed as her lips peeled away   
from her gums, as her expression seemed to go from pain to the rage of   
an injured and cornered animal. Her knees locked, and then broke,   
reforming as a bird's leg. Her fingers curled, and then stretched into   
tapering claws the color of platinum.  
  
As the cacophany of cracks, harmonized by a brutal sizzle and hiss,   
died away, she curled forward, her back curving in a shockingly   
violent arc. The skin began to move in at least five seperate places,   
by Luna's count.  
  
Cracks emenated from the thing that had formerly been a woman, and the   
movement in her back grew more frantic.  
  
And, at last, in a mist of blood, six blood-splattered contructs shredded   
her back, their bone-like metallic structure resembling that of wings,   
though even Luna could tell that they would never support flight.  
  
Luna gazed at the being mistily, as its head tilted questioningly.   
"That was interesting. Sounds like fun. Why not?"  
  
A smile curved the no-longer human lips, before the process reversed   
itself, and Raye once again stood before the dreamy Potential.  
  
"Well then. You will have to join my classes. I am _not_ creating an   
incompetent."  
_????, London. 0659, January 6._  
  
-------  
  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
Lie blinked as the nearly blinding sensation from his hand faded.   
Curiously he looked at it, to find that it was whole again. And yet,   
'I will not tell lies' had somehow faded from his skin, leaving his   
hand perfect and unmarred.  
  
Though there was the matter of his ring. While his hand was normal   
again, his ring finger had grown around the metal, the only signs that   
it had existed being the curving metal protruding from either side of   
the finger.  
  
Severus was vaguely aware that something was different, though at the   
moment he couldn't tell what it was. He was more concerned with the   
phantom agony searing his mind.  
  
Yet he was forced to watch as Lie shoved himself to his feet, slowly   
as his neural pathways were still ravaged from the burning electrical   
rampages.  
  
Lie was still half in a state of utter need for release when Cais   
entered the room.  
  
"So," she began contentedly, "how was it?"  
  
In a voice hoarse and raspy from extended screaming, Lie attempted to   
come up with a definitive answer, though he failed. "It... was...   
everything..."  
  
Cais nodded agreeably, and retrieved the mechanism that had done the   
damage.  
  
"Other hand!" She requested cheerfully, extending her own to accept   
his.  
  
Lie's second hand made its way to hers, trembling as it did so.  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
  
-------  
  
_Dungeons, Hogwarts. 0922, January 6._  
"So," the pale woman began, leaning carelessly against a wall, "you   
are going to accept Ange training. That is nice and all, but I suppose   
you need a crash-course in our society."  
  
Luna blinked slowly.  
  
"So, first off, there are Sixteen. No more, no less. There are four   
lineages of us, one might say. At any time there should be two Masters,   
two Disciples of each line. A Disciple is free to challenge a Master   
at any time, and it is a fight to the death. Understandably difficult.   
These fights take as long as necessary, which is to say, there is no   
stopping unless someone dies.  
  
"I assume you already have a God, right? Good, someday you will meet   
him, or her, whatever, and you will find out if they like you or not.  
  
"Confused yet? No? Good.  
  
"So, each of the Sixteen has a name, and a Name. Their name is their   
numerical desgination. One-and-one, for example, would be the First   
Master of the First Line. Four-and-four would be the Second Disciple   
of the Fourth Line. Then, there is the Name."  
  
Raye paused, wondering if Luna was actually listening. She wouldn't   
put it past the unusual girl to actually have the audacity to pay   
attention.  
  
"Your Name can be anything, really. There are, naturally, restrictions   
on how you create your Name, but you do not need to know those yet.   
I am... was, rather, a Master. To signify this, onto my name you add   
'rok, which means approximately _Of War_. Therefore I am Raye'rok or, to   
translate, Raye of War.  
  
"Which is, I expect, why the Second Line tends to have Names of actual   
objects. My Master, for example, was Cais, which can be both cay-is,   
or cay-se."  
  
Raye paused, and yes it did seem like Luna was listening.  
  
"As a Disciple, your name would have the prefix Iskrt, while your full   
title would be Iskrt-Harêh, which would mean something like _"Undisciplined   
Death"_. I reccomend not asking.  
  
"Confused? Yes? Fair enough. I did not learn this until I was already   
remade, so I merely assimilated it.  
  
"Now, on to the... practical part. We are... shapeshifters, one might   
say, of a sort. We are limited though.  
  
"For example, our body mass can never change. While I could, in theory   
become a rat, it would be one fucker of a heavy rat, and be useless   
because anywhere I could not already go would probably not support my   
weight. It is a bit more complicated than that, but the details are   
not important yet.  
  
"Of course, we can add and subtract our mass, through the intake of   
materials and letting them out. No, I am not going to expand upon that   
yet. You would not understand.  
  
"Should, at any point, you wish to leave my tender care, too bad. The   
only way out is death."  
  
Raye stopped, and waited patiently.  
  
Luna gave her a look that more or less translated to, "Is that all?"  
_Dungeons, Hogwarts. 0940, January 6._  
  
-------  
  
_Mental Ward, St. Mungo's Hospital. 1000, January 6._  
Severus Snape sat, confined to his bed by a spell. Which wasn't all   
that useful, seeing as he was in a solitary room, with cushioning   
charms on everything remotely solid, and nothing that could even be   
potentially sharp.  
  
His eyes, unfocused as they were, seemed to stare straight through the   
wall, but they moved, watching as if he was seeing people on the other   
side.  
  
His lips moved, but not a sound came out as they did. The words his   
mouth would have spoken had he been capable of it would not have been   
recognized by anyone, for they were words that would not be spoken   
for eons.  
  
Though one person would have known exactly what he was trying to say,   
even though it would have been said in a heavily bastardized fashion.  
  
"I killed them, they asked me to, so I did, so they died, so they... I will not tell lies!"  
_Mental Ward, St. Mungo's Hospital. 1001, January 6._  
  
  
  
  
Saetan--Short chapters=more chapters. School's drainin' me and whatnot.  
  
Relle--Bwuhahahahaha... You think _that's_ bad? That's one of the most   
mild things that happened to 'Lie'. Snapey... dunno. He's gone through   
some heavy shit. ^_^ Methinks you might prefer to be an Ange, though   
that could be a backup plan if you died halfway through the process.   
Man, H/L/T is looking better and better.  
  
ReginaLucifer--heh... Just a corpse. Neko's a more insidious Ange than   
most others. There will be a crash-course in Ange-ness sometime. Soon,   
perhaps, considering that Luna needs to meet Raye soon. hmm... Now I   
know what's goin' to happen in this chapter! Heh...  
  
  
  
What could have broken Snape so? Hmm...  



	16. Cyclic

**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
A/N: I's having hella comp problems. Forgive me. Delayed to hell. My   
computer doth detest FF.N... And I'm skiving off my English to do this.   
I don't like Mr. Wyckoff. And pay attention to the freaking warning.  
Whoa-fuck. I uploaded the whole thing, and half the fuckin' chapter   
shows. What?  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female. Quite probable threesome   
relationship between any of the above.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 16:  
  
_Contestant entry, ????. January 18, 1122._  
"What now?"  
  
Raye sighed, resisted the urge to smack the man across the back of his   
head, and instead kicked his ankle.  
  
"She," she gestured toward Luna, "is joining up. I'll sponsor her.   
Which one's next? Freearms? You lost the finalist in the non-weapons   
anyway, so you need someone. I get moved up to the finals, she gets   
to take the first round. Its not that hard, is it?"  
  
The manager frowned. "What proof do I have of her skills?" he demanded   
as if he really had a choice.  
  
Raye arched an eyebrow. "My word." She responded, nearly purring in   
contentment.  
  
He ran his hand over his pale, shaven head. "Okay. Fine. What's she   
use? And you?"  
  
Raye flicked her hand toward her pupil, "A demonstration if you will?"  
  
Luna lunged, her arm swinging in a wide arc. Half of the man's tie   
fell away, and his fake-leather vest was suddenly sporting a new slit.  
  
Luna pulled the sleeve of her dress jacket back, revealing the   
contraption strapped to her arm. It was a double-edged blade, spring   
mounted to a plate at her wrist. When her arm swung, the kinetic force   
slammed the blade out, extending mere centimeters in front of her   
fingers, and when she stopped, the spring forced the blade back into   
the housing along the bottom of her forearm. The housing looked rather   
plastic, because it was, and had a pair of latches, which could be   
used to lock the blade out. There was no way to keep it in, after all,   
Raye had desgined it. And her stance on safety mechanisms was, quoted,   
'Screw that. You shouldn't need one if you're going to be carrying a   
weapon anyway.'  
  
While it was not the first of its kind Raye had seen, it was the first   
one she had built. Some variants actually had catches, a problem that   
had proved fatal twice, in front of Raye. She was positive that there   
were more times than those she had been present for.  
  
"Works for me," he responded, tapping the toe of one of his cowboy   
boots--a vaguely reddish-brown color today--against the concrete floor.   
He wore a pair of sunglasses, propped onto his forehead, revealing his   
"shit-brown" (his own words) eyes. "And you?" He moved on to Raye.  
  
And, immediately thereafter, found himself looking down the barrel of   
a Desert Eagle .50 AE.  
  
"Ah. That works for me too. You... do have that legally, right?"  
  
Raye grinned. "Is the tourney legal?"  
  
He shrugged. "Not so much."  
  
The magnum vanished again, and Raye turned to walk away. "So why are   
you worried someone's going to press charges? Come along Luna."  
  
The girl followed vapidly, staring at Raye's back, it seemed, for lack   
of anything better to do.  
  
And wondering why the woman trusted her so much.  
_Contestant entry, ????. January 18, 1135._  
  
-------  
  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. January 18, 1224._  
Raye pushed the door open, and then held it there, blocking the entry,   
a curious look on her face. This was not something she was really used   
to yet.  
  
"Hi?" She asked carefully.  
  
Tonks looked up, her hair a sort of aquamarine that almost made Raye   
want to rip it out. It succeeded in making her want to find out if the   
other woman had, once again, decided to change all of her hair.  
  
The small problem of the girl outside the door reminded her that such   
an expidition would have to wait. Unless Tonks didn't entirely mind   
sharing.  
  
Not something she was particularly eager to find out at the moment.   
soon, yes, immediately, no.  
  
"Where exactly have you been?" She demanded. Demanded! The irony of   
the idea.  
  
Yet, somehow, Raye managed to feel slightly... intimidated by the other   
woman. So, yeah. Tonks was taller than her. No biggie. That could be   
remedied. It wasn't like she had any emotional attachment to the   
relationship, after all, everything boiled down to sex (and therefore   
reproduction. She ignored that she didn't aid in this.), and that was   
the basis of the relationship.  
  
Nothing more.  
  
"Registering Luna," she replied in her heavy Deutsch accent.  
  
Carefully she stepped away from the door, careful to put neither more,   
nor less distance between herself and her lover. Either could be seen   
as agression or fear. She would not let the dynamics of the relationship   
be questioned. She was not afraid of the metamorphamagus!  
  
Okay. So it was possible that the woman could toss her around a bit.   
Unlikely, that way of using the ability hadn't been thought of in...   
Eons, at this point. Probably. Raye hated that she could never be as   
versatile as the metamorphamagus. It was a constant reminder that while   
she and hers were powerful... they were still outclassed.  
  
Well, in some ways. Metamorphamagi were, for now, not used for wars.   
She was.  
  
Raye wondered briefly if she should teach the woman how to use her   
ability.  
  
And she missed the slight expression that slid across the face of the   
target of her thoughts. Somewhere between jealousy and lust...  
  
"And...?"  
  
Raye rolled her eyes. She had no resposibility to this woman! She   
wasn't exactly sure what stopped her from reminding her of the fact.   
"Teaching. Everyone."  
  
Luna entered quietly, trying to split her attention between the two,   
and trying to figure out what was missing here. It was clear that   
something was. It was like there was a table of the relationship, but   
instead of having the minimum requirement of three legs, it only had   
two...  
  
Or maybe she was regurgitating the lectures on relationships she'd been   
forced to suffer through from her father. The man was certainly a nice   
person (remarkably unlike her new teacher, whom she already felt more   
loyalty to. Not that that was a difficult thing to accomplish.), but   
he was ever so overbearing.  
  
She wondered what purpose he was going to serve. Raye had said as much,   
and she had laughed as she did so. It wasn't anything unusal for her   
to laugh, but...  
  
Something about it seemed a little... perverted.  
  
So enthralled in her thoughts was she that she missed a bit of the   
conversation.  
  
Raye looked at Luna, before looking back to the other woman, abruptly   
cautiously horny. Interesting how both of them managed to arouse her,   
especially in combination.  
  
This would require investigation. Later.  
  
"Luna." She purred, her voice deepened with lust. "Go prepare. Your   
round is in eleven hours."  
  
Her own was, happily, not for two days at best. A six round tournament, with   
three tonight and tomorrow morning, three tomorrow eve and the morn of   
the next day. Depending on how long it took the rounds to finish, of   
course. There was no time limit, just death.  
  
She didn't bother turning to watch the girl leave, she merely waited   
for the door to close. It wasn't that she cared if Luna stayed, it was   
that she preferred the first time with someone to be a one on one   
session.  
  
Not that she objected very strenously to it not being a one on one.  
  
Perhaps it was a bit lucky that Luna hadn't learned that Raye didn't   
particularly care if she disobeyed (and actually somewhat wanted her   
to) yet.  
  
Tonks had little time to object before Raye had pulled her off the   
couch, gripping her jaw between her forefinger and thumb. Pressure   
that was neither gentle, nor harsh, and definitely not tender.  
  
Tonks frowned at the inspection, not so much upset at it, as upset at   
her inability to reciprocate. She just wasn't physically strong enough   
(at which a thought tried to wiggle at the back of her mind, and was   
ignored). It was, she thought, pathetic that she could be manhandled   
by someone shorter than she was. Of course, it was something she   
regularly did to people taller than her, which only reinforced the   
idea that _she_ should be the one bending Raye to her will.  
  
Not something that Raye would have been adverse to, but Tonks didn't   
know that at the moment.  
  
So, instead of resisting as Raye pushed her against the wall, she went   
with it, igniting further frustration in the pale woman.  
She wanted a hunt! Loki, get this woman some spine!.  
  
Tonks whimpered into the woman's mouth as she felt the buttons on her   
baby-blue blouse being undone, followed quickly by an impatient tug at   
her jeans. She swiftly undid those, knowing Raye's tendency to rip   
anything that got in her way, rather than sanely unbuttoning.  
  
Sane was, after all, not a word she would use to describe Raye.  
  
She protested feebly as the woman's almost chilled lips left her own,   
and travelled lower, nipping with teeth that felt like they had been   
filed into razor edges at her throat, managing somehow to not break   
the tender flesh.  
  
A possessive snarl curled across Raye's lips as her nimble fingers,   
though inexperienced as they were at this particular piece of fabric,   
finally undid the clasp to her lover's bra, though she let it remain   
for the time being.  
  
Tonks managed to arch her body away from the wall, just long enough to   
let her blouse escape the pressure on it, and as soon as her hands   
were free, began returning the favor of discarding clothing.   
_Nymphadora Tonks Apartment, ????. January 18, 1241._   
  
mistik-elf13--bwuahahahahaha! Poor Sevvie, is all I'm going to say to   
that. Pity the man.  
  
Relle--erhm. Nice to know I got _someone_ in character. Luna's cool. Threesome being somewhat way off in the future, and of   
course, not imminent. A lot of room for growth here. Remember, to be   
able to change something, for an Ange it must first be destroyed. Now,   
think: Raye is female at the moment. Think of how much Raye's bone   
structure has to change to allow that.  
  
Wytil--Ah, yes. I remember those P&P fondly. Shadowrun was awesome,   
but I haven't found anyone to play it with in years. Stupid dragons?   
Umm... what now?  
  
Cathy-Ann--If you'll notice, the rating system only goes up to 'R'.  
And anyway, there's been no explicit sex. Just heavily implied kink.   
And I don't know what's wrong with you if you object to kink.  
  
Demon's Soul of Baer--I'm shaking my fist at you. I didn't realize I   
had another review until I'd posted this chapter once. Grr! Anyway,   
if you haven't pieced the clues together, _Harry=Raye_! 


	17. First

**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
A/N: No wonder you people were confused. Blast it. Curse you FF.N!   
Curse you! Anyway, chapter 16 got raped when I uploaded it the first   
time. So go back and check if you didn't see a start location/time   
when you read. Apologies.   
  
School's out. Yay, I think.  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female. Quite probable threesome   
relationship between any of the above.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 17:  
  
_Weapons Free Round One, ????. January 18, 2330._  
Luna trembled quietly within her cell. Raye's explaination for the   
isolation, while thorough, was far from comforting. It had (she   
thought) something to do with sneaking extra armaments into the fight.   
She had objected that she wouldn't do that. Raye had mumbled something   
about that needing to be fixed in response, though it was clear she   
hadn't intended the statement to be heard.  
  
Which, of course, meant that Luna had paid very close attention. Any   
knowledge that Raye didn't give her willingly was knowledge worth   
having. The blue haired woman herself had told her as much, though she   
hadn't said anything about how to aquire the information. And she had   
not limited the "anything someone doesn't tell you is worth knowing"   
directive to herself.  
  
As a result of this Luna had learned more in the days after that than   
she had once thought possible. For example, Raye had, almost painfully   
obviously (so much so that Luna suspected the woman had wanted her to   
notice) never told her to not attempt to harm anyone. She inferred,   
quite correctly, from this that Raye really didn't care if she   
inflicted grevious bodily harm on anyone. She had also noted that   
on the curriculum of human transfiguration, never once had it been   
called illegal. She had pursued this into a law book, from which she   
had come away with the vague idea that some group of people had   
systematically crushed anyone who supported banning it. There was no   
recorded reason for this, which had been what had caught her interest,   
and shortly after she had aquired a list of the people who had opposed   
such measures.  
  
The list should have been shocking, but wasn't. Or maybe it should not   
have been shocking, but was. It was simply not something she thought   
about. Bluntly, it had mainly been people (male and female) who were,   
at least she supposed, big names in the buisness of pornography.  
  
She had told Raye this, to fill a lull in the conversation. The woman   
had laughed hard enough that Luna had begun to wonder if she should   
assist in some way, before the amused inverted eyes had fallen on her,   
and the seizure had stopped. 'You really didn't know?' the eyes had   
asked. 'Well, good to know you took my advice to heart.'  
  
"Remember kids," she whispered at random as the door beyond the bars   
opened, "it's across the street, not down." Even as she said it, she   
traced a finger across the weapons housed against her wrists.  
  
Then the bars slid aside, and she stalked out confidently into the   
arena.  
  
Her first thought was that someone had taken the Roman Coliseum, and   
messed with not only the size, but the proportions as well.  
  
Her next thought ran along the lines of, 'oh, bugger it. That's my   
enemy?'  
  
The woman looked like she had been a professional body builder for her   
entire life, or at least three quarters of it. It was difficult to   
place her age, though she couldn't have been older than forty five,   
but was certainly no longer a teenager. She had muscles to the point   
where Luna was almost certain that she would not have to flex to throw   
most of the people she knew, bar Raye, around the arena. And then   
there was the acne. It started from just below the line of her   
eyebrows, and descended from there into the high collar of her shirt.   
The shirt, though it was long sleeved and the color of rose wine   
managed to both cover her entirely, and leave almost nothing to the   
imagination.  
  
It was a mental picture Luna could have done without. Yet it got worse.   
The woman's shorts, if the could actually be called such, it would be   
more accurate to call them a thong, though it was clearly either   
something the woman did not do often, or something done entirely to   
induce vomiting in other people. She had, to be blunt, done absolutely   
nothing with her pubic hair, a great deal of the flaming red strands   
protruded from beneath the cloth. And apparently, her acne didn't stop   
where it vanished under her collar, for it continued down her   
impressive legs to vanish into her high socks, which were rolled up   
football style. And then there were her shoes. Or rather, her ice   
skates. The idea of her wearing ice skates in the middle of the sand   
of the recreated Coliseum was absurd.  
  
When Luna finally managed to drag her eyes away, fascinated by the   
horrific nature of the woman's attire, she saw that a pair of silver-  
grey eyes stared out of the almond-shaped sockets, and her lips, the   
only place on her face free of pimples, were drawn tight.  
  
Oh goddess, she prayed, please...  
  
She didn't have an exact goal in mind for her prayer, she just needed   
to express her stark terror to someone else, or think she was.  
  
The 'gong' rang, and the woman drew the massive double-bladed battle   
axe from her back.  
  
Oh. Damn.  
  
The too-large-to-be-real weapon crashed down against the sand, slicing   
deeply into the pit. Luna blinked, twice.  
  
"Hi?" She asked hesitantly.  
  
"Hi." Affirmed the woman. "Now you die."  
  
Luna dropped her head, supressing a sigh of something approaching   
futile acceptance. Could she not possibly have a semi-original   
opponent?  
  
Evidently, no was the answer. Silently she cursed the imaginationless   
god who had created the woman.  
  
Some unidentifiable piano music echoed through the area, and Luna's   
head snapped around to face the speakers. Piano music?  
  
So it wasn't until she heard the laugh that she noticed the acne   
ridden lady moving. The axe curved through the air, slicing off a   
small portion of Luna's collar as she flung herself backwards.  
  
Her feet still hadn't landed when one of the ice skates slashed across   
her thigh, opening a wide furrow in her flesh.  
  
She hit the sand, and slipped as it ground aside beneath her feet,   
clad only in pale blue socks. She gazed for a long moment at the   
bleeding wound before turning back to the axe-wielding psychopath.  
  
And rolled away as it came down, lashing out to slice across the back   
of the woman's leg, shredding her achilles tendon.  
  
It wasn't until the woman tried to turn, which wasn't more than two   
seconds, that she collapsed. Despite her new, and certainly more   
interesting, position, she manage to fling (for Luna could think of no   
better description) another slash with the oversized weapon.   
  
Luna contorted wildly in an attempt to dodge, and as a result, instead   
of taking her arm off, the axe merely tore through her shoulder, quite   
severing the deltoid muscle.  
  
Luna rolled away, coming up onto one knee, her left arm hanging, not   
quite limply, but it wasn't mobile either.  
  
She stood, tilting her head curiously as she looked at the woman on   
the ploughed, crimson stained sand.  
  
The axe swung again, and she stepped closer, so that instead of   
loosing a foot, the shaft impacted her leg. A strange crack later, she   
was on her side, her leg bending in a place legs had not been made to   
bend.  
  
"Die," the acne ridden woman whispered.  
  
Luna's hand struck a stiffened finger blow to the woman's throat, the   
blade beneath her arm lunged, and buried itself deep in the woman's   
neck as Luna's hand collapsed to drive it further in.  
  
There was no gurgle as she died. She didn't even look surprised. Her   
red and white face merely registered triumph and victory.  
  
Luna shoved herself away as soon as she was able to, staring with wide   
eyes at the woman. She curled herself into a ball as best she could,   
and stared in horrific facination at the now-corpse.  
  
She'd... killed...?  
  
Her eyes stung with tears, not of sorrow, but of surprise.  
  
She'd... killed...?  
  
Her back trembled with fear. How could she be able to...?  
  
She'd... killed...?  
_Weapons Free, Round One-The Moon, ????. January 19, 0002._  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. January 19, 0325._  
Raye sighed, and seated herself next to the child. It hadn't occured   
to her that Luna was a virgin, had never killed anyone. It had been   
such a long time since she had popped her own cherry. Her life for so   
long had consisted of nothing else that she never thought that there   
were people who didn't. It just wasn't something that existed in her   
mind.  
  
She cautiously placed her arm around the suddenly small girl, and in a   
motion completely forigen to her, drew the child against herself. Luna   
obeyed, unable to do otherwise, seeking warmth and comfort from the   
pale woman.  
  
While her injuries had been fixed, she had paid no attention to the   
proceedings. It was something Raye would berate her for. Later. Now,   
she needed to cultivate the child. Make the death permissible. Make it   
all better.  
  
"Luna..." She began awkwardly. This was not what she was. She was a   
destroyer, she had slaughtered so many people, she was an Ange. She   
was not someone that anyone would go to for comfort.  
  
She tried again. "Luna... do you understand what those people are? The   
ones who fight there?"  
  
Luna shivered slightly, pressing herself harder against the woman,   
trying to find warmth. She could not find it. It just... wasn't there.   
She shook her head slightly, so very slightly that it could have   
passed for another shudder.  
  
"They are all... monsters." The words were not coming easily to Raye's   
tongue, she had no experience with this. She did not resent being   
called a monster, she was what went bump in the night. If someone cut   
her, many believed that she would not bleed.  
  
They weren't so wrong.  
  
"They prey on the weak and the innocent." She'd given up trying to   
comfort Luna conciously, and was by now merely describing herself.   
"They kill for pleasure. They do not feel sorry for what they have   
done, they... they are... They are each a far worse than Voldemort."  
  
She paused, then sighed. "They are spiders, they prey on the rest of   
the world, the butterflies."  
  
Luna said nothing.  
  
Raye felt like striking the child, but she needed someone like herself.   
She couldn't give up Luna. "You saved uncounted numbers of people,   
Luna."  
  
Something soft hissed from between the child's lips. "Kill the spiders   
to save the butterflies...?"  
  
The child's face turned to look up at the inverted eyes.  
  
Raye saw something in the face. She couldn't tell what it was, only   
that it was something she desperately wanted, needed, could not   
survive without...  
  
Entranced, she leaned down slowly to press her lips against the girl's.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. January 19, 0413._  
  
Heaven Queen Carry Me, Away from All Pain...   
  
Demon's Soul of Baer--By being what Raye is. An Ange.  
  
ReginaLucifer--Pretty much.  
  
Relle--Hurt? This is Raye. There is no pain, just pleasure for her.   
Freak that she is.  
  
legacyZero--Even after I stated Raye is not an OC back at what, chap   
six?  
  
sess9--Is a lot of very.  
  
Killing the Spiders to save the Butterflies comes from Knives of   
Trigun. 


	18. Warriors

**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
A/N: Astonishingly, now that I've just finished and posted chapter   
seventeen, I immediately start to work on eighteen. Without any   
reviews. I feel that I broke seventeen off at a good place, but it was   
not quite where I had planned to. And yet it took me forever to   
actually post this blasted thing. Sexy.  
  
On female sexuality:  
  
Her skin will flush very slightly. If she's pale as death ordinarily   
and has suddenly turned rosy, she wants it. Her lips will especially   
flush, and may even "swell" up a bit.  
  
(the biological reason for this is that the lips are trying to   
suggest... well, another set of lips).  
  
A man said to the universe: 'Sir, I exist!' However, replied the   
universe: 'The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation.'"   
--Stephan Crane  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,   
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore   
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,   
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male   
relationships, and definite female/female. Quite probable threesome   
relationship between any of the above.** Ye hast been warned. Should   
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on   
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter   
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option   
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users   
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 18:  
  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. January 19, 1420._  
Raye slipped through the door quietly, closing it softly. She leaned   
against the wall, her eyes closed, the back of her head impacting with   
a dull thud. She really hadn't meant to do that. Immediately after the   
kiss, she'd fled. Luna was probably still there.  
  
Shit.  
  
Her fist hammered into the wall next to the door.  
  
"Is something wrong?"  
  
It was, naturally, Tonks. Had it been anyone else, Raye would have   
been greatly offended. It was Tonks' flat, after all.  
  
"No," she responded. "Or it might be. I do not know."  
  
Tonks waited. Not patiently, because she didn't want to know all that   
much in the first place. She faked it almost well enough though.  
  
Of course, had Raye been in some other state of mind, she would have   
seen that. "Have you ever killed someone?"  
  
Tonks looked not unlike someone caught between lying or her not-happy   
place. That was not somewhere she wanted to go. "No," she snapped   
shortly.  
  
"Try it. Then tell me how that would have felt at sixteen."  
  
Tonks tilted her head, considering the idea. Sixteen? "Did something   
happen to Luna?"  
  
Raye's hand curled tightly around the key she had borrowed. When her   
voice finally came, her accent was, if possible, thicker. "She killed   
someone."  
  
Tonks muttered darkly. "Wizard or a muggle?"  
  
It was a critical question. Though it was pitiful, it was a fact that   
the Ministry didn't prosecute witches or wizards who killed muggles.   
They left that to the muggles themselves. If Luna had killed a muggle,   
she wouldn't need to arrest her.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Did she kill a magical person or a non magical person?"  
  
"Ah." Raye said, understanding dawning. It had been such a long time   
since the last occasion she had even thought about the word muggle.   
"A norm. Damn, I did _not_ know she had yet to kill anyone."  
  
Curiosity overwhelmed Tonks. What kind of world would you have to call   
your own to assume that everyone you met was a killer?  
  
"How many people have you killed?"  
  
Raye blinked several times. Then several more. "Loki... I do not know   
the correct numerical designation. But if you round... there are a lot   
of zeroes. After other numbers. If I went to Dante's Hell, it would   
need a whole new level of boiling blood for me."  
  
"How many zeros?"  
  
"A lot."  
_Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. January 19, 1450._  
  
-------  
  
_UNKNOWN!UKNOWN!UNKOWN!UNKOWN!_  
Lie seated himself, and Severus babbled.  
  
He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had come, only that he   
was now a full Ange. Not a Master, but an Ange.  
  
"Now," the platinum-haired woman began, "until you kill either Euri or   
myself, I merely have to train you to be a better killer. Have you   
ever killed anyone?"  
  
Lie thought, and Severus prayed he would say 'yes'. "I tried a few   
times." He said. "It didn't work so good."  
  
The woman's lips thinned and stretched, but without twisting her face.   
It was as if she had merely recreated her face, with a longer mouth.   
While it was not quite right, the description wasn't exactly wrong   
either. "We'll have to fix that."  
  
"Really?" Lie eager, Severus fearing the imminent loss of the child's   
innocence.  
  
"I would not lie so brazenly. Do not take me for a fool."  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_   
-------  
  
_Final, ????. January 20, 0023._  
Raye exited her cell, letting the breeze play with her hair as she   
crossed the open hallway. She didn't have to go far, and almost before   
her hair had started dancing, she was away from the wind. Why it was   
above ground this time was something she wasn't going to bother   
wondering at. She was more concerned, though that wasn't exactly the   
right word, because she already knew the outcome, with the imminent   
conflict.  
  
It sounded so pretty like that, she observed.  
  
The thought drew a sardonic giggle. Death is pretty...  
  
"You told I had the eyes of a wolf, search them and find the beauty of   
the beast..." she hummed quietly. The lyrics had come out of nowhere,   
from a song she had heard a long time ago.  
  
And then she was in the arena.  
  
It was oblong, was her first thought. Closely on the heels of that   
came the possibility that it had once been a church. There were,   
suffice to say, a lot of crucifixes. What better place to commit _the_ sin?  
  
Raye giggled as she watched her opponent step into the oblong perimiter.   
That had not been a phrase she had thought of ever before, and   
probably would never have. It made her wonder what else she had never   
thought of. Her mind rapidly degenerated into the proverbial gutter.  
  
Her opponent gripped his weapon at the sight of her twisted expression,   
a mix of interest, disgust, and a certain degree of horror. She mocked   
him! He, the only successor to the Itagaki style, was being mocked by   
some woman without even a surname!  
  
His almost almond-shaped eyes, but just a little too round for that,   
narrowed in anger. She was even shorter than he was, and he stood a   
mere five feet three inches. Quite nearly a midget himself.  
  
It made things hard for him. Contrary to what people said, size did   
matter. Small things tended to be squashed easily. And being squahed   
was never a good thing.  
  
And she was _purple_. What kind of moron went _purple_ in a war tournament?  
  
Death would be her reward. It would be swift, and merciful. One strike   
no more, no less.  
  
He looked down, settling into a perfect Iai stance, his blade popped   
free of the saya.  
  
His eyes unfocused as he began to narrate how the battle would go to   
himself. He would lunge, his blade singing from its saya as her weapon   
missed. His weapon would strike at her neck, severing her head in one   
smooth motion, she would not have time to realize her defeat. A   
warrior's death.  
  
Raye stretched her knit hands in front of her, cracking her knuckles,   
and, by pure accident, her elbows as well. Her left went to her Eagle,   
sliding it part-way out of the holster, making sure it was completely   
free, and wouldn't catch when she drew it. It was an unnecessary   
gesture, had it caught on something it would have ripped free. Though   
that was unlikely in the extreme, her care of her weapons was second   
only to her love of pain.  
  
And then she lifted her right hand, placing her thumb between the   
first and second fingers of her closed fist. This she waved at the   
man, who clearly did not understand the significance.  
  
Idiot.  
  
Beneath the black material, the man's arms flexed in preparation. He   
would win this, for his master.  
  
His master, Perio.  
  
The gong sounded, though Raye had not heard the introductions. Perhaps   
they had not been given, perhaps she had been distracted.  
  
For twenty impossibly long seconds, her opponent simply stared at her,   
as if trying to gauge her abilites.  
  
The thought nearly made her cry with laughter. Gauge her? Impossible.   
She knew of one person who might be able to do so. And she hadn't seen   
that person in more years than she knew how to count.  
  
And then he lunged. His speed was not hindered by the way he was   
moving, shuffling his right foot forward, never letting his left take   
the lead. He was moving perfectly according to his training.  
  
And then Raye drew her magnum, left handed, and fired. The fifty   
caliber bullet vaporized the man's shoulder, streaking away to shatter   
the lock of the double doors. A scream echoed from beyond, harmonizing   
quickly with the fallen man's.  
  
Raye approached boredly, listening as the scream died away, and gazing   
at the immense hole in her opponent. His eyes plead for a warrior's   
death, an honorable beheading.  
  
Raye kicked him onto his stomach, before shooting him again. The   
bullet tore a gaping hole in his back, perfectly centered between the   
shoulder blades, and buried itself in the earth beneath the half   
rotten wood floor.  
  
Raye muttered something in a harsh language that was not German about   
the man's ancestry, inbreeding, genetic defects, and sexual impotence.  
_Weapons Free, Team Shike Victors. January 20, 0031._  
  
-------  
  
_Street, London. January 20, 0246._  
Raye stepped out of the convinence store without sound. The cashier   
within was lying across the counter, a long slash across his eyes,   
and another that looked like something flat had punctured entirely   
through his neck. What was supposed to be a security camera was now   
merely a pile of still-slightly molten slag.  
  
Raye gazed curiously at the box in her hand, some brand or other of   
cigarettes, she hadn't been picky. It was something she had wanted to   
try for a week or so now, an almost unheard-of length of time for   
something she wanted.  
  
A transparent blue plastic lighter burst into flame after several   
awkward tries, and the fire caressed the end of one of the sticks, and   
the harsh aroma of a French blend fled onto the night air.  
  
Raye took it between her lips, and drew a deep breath through it.   
Without releasing it, she tilted her head slightly, and considered.   
It was nothing special, she decided, and dropped the mostly-whole   
cigarette to the pavement, along with the rest of the pack, and the   
lighter. She crushed it, and walked away.  
  
And then the store exploded.  
_Street, London. January 20, 0259.  
_

  
ReginaLucifer--Now now, that's jumping to conclusions. But yeah, I   
expect the first time you kill someone is rather shocking.  
  
Relle--You know, it seems like I just can't update if I don't get a   
review from you. Strange.  
  
Dante's Hell reference: One of the Circles is a river of boiling   
blood. Depending on how many people someone has killed, you go deeper.   
Alexander the Great is completely submerged. Raye would be   
significantly deeper.  
  
Raye's gesture:  
This is known as a 'fig'. Greatly obscene, the first and second   
fingers represent the lips of a vagina, the thumb a penis. Highly   
disrespectful.


	19. Secrets

**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
A/N:   
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,  
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore  
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,  
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male  
relationships, and definite female/female. Quite probable threesome  
relationship between any of the above.** Ye hast been warned. Should  
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on  
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter  
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option  
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users  
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter 19:  
  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
When the eyes that Severus did not own opened, a demon occupied his  
vision. A demon with silver hair and eyes.  
  
He cringed as best he was able, irritated by Lie's casually languid  
blink, as if the person cared not about what this monster was capable  
of. The demon frowned, reached down, and lifted Lie from what passed  
for a bed by the neck. Severus gagged at the pressure, and wanted  
desperately to grab at the hands. Lie grinned at the woman.  
  
"Hi," he grunted, looking down at the demon. "Bad day?"  
  
Cais tightened her grip, and then threw him in the general direction  
of the door.  
  
"Who," she demanded, "is this?"  
  
Lie looked at the deathly pale woman in the bed. It took a moment of  
thought to figure out who she was. "A toy," he responded carefully.  
Severus knew this to be a lie, knew in fact that Lie was fully in love  
with the albino. He knew too that this was the only way for the woman  
to leave alive.  
  
"You don't bring your toys here, understand?"  
  
Lie nodded as best he was able.  
  
"Good." Cais smiled viciously, and then rammed her hand through Lie's  
chest. "Learn, Raye. You're not an Ange until you kill myself or Euri,  
and that's never going to happen."  
  
Lie froze, his neck arching in a rictus as the orgasmic sensation  
ripped through his body.  
  
Cais dropped him casually, and left, taking a portion of his heart  
with her.  
  
I lost my heart, to a sweet demon of mine...  
_UKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
  
-------  
  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0808, January 20._  
"The hell do you want?"  
  
This was going slightly less than well, Dumbledore observed. He had  
hoped that he might get the woman to agree without difficulty.  
  
It seemed such would not be the case. Mentally he steeled himself as  
he prepared to do something he disliked most intensely, tell someone  
exactly what he wanted.  
  
"The Order is preparing to attack--"  
  
"Oooh!" Raye nearly squealed, "How can I help?"  
  
Dumbledore paused. That had been unnaturally easy. It was, in fact,  
surprisingly easy.  
  
"You could help the attack," he began, to be interrupted again.  
  
"I will do it by myself," she volunteered. She wanted blood. "However,"  
she continued, "not for free. There are several items I want, and I  
will accept those as payment."  
  
"What are they?"  
  
Raye grinned obscenely. "I want one hundred kilograms of stainless  
steel. In addition, I will require the use of a forge."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Never you mind," she said sharply, shaking a finger. "Just do it. If  
there is anything out of the ordinary you would like done to the  
target, that'll be extra."  
  
Dumbledore was cautious. "What exactly is the ordinary?"  
  
Raye's grin widened, splitting her entire face in two, exposing many  
sharp looking teeth. "Razing it to rubble, killing everyone inside,  
taking of prisoners for personal use--I suppose that means I will need  
the use of a dungeon--impaling everyone that isn't a mass of tissue."  
  
"I do not wish for the building to be leveled." No, leaving it  
standing would allow his Order to use it as a base.  
  
"That will cost you. I think Harry Potter's wand would be an  
appropriate payment."  
  
"Done," the wizard responded quickly. The wand was no use without the  
wizard.  
  
"Deliver the items to this address," Raye slashed something onto a  
piece of paper, and passed it over to the wizard. "Within two days  
after the destruction. If you do not, I will take my payment from you."  
  
And then she was gone.  
  
"What do you think?" Dumbledore asked the corner of the room.  
  
The corner shifted, and out of it slid a pale man in an impeccable  
suit, black with a dark tie and white button up shirt under the  
jacket. Round, blue sunglasses hid his eyes, though did nothing to  
conceal the manic grin on his face. His hair was impeccably combed,  
straight back.  
  
"She knew I was there." He announced in a voice that was less human  
and echoed itself somehow.  
  
"How," the old man demanded sharply.  
  
"Damn me," and this struck the man as immensely funny, and he roared  
with laughter for a minute, before finishing, "if I know."  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. "What did you find out?"  
  
"That not even I would dare peer into her mind. That she isn't German.  
That she's old."  
  
"How can you tell she's not German?"  
  
"It's her face. The shape is all wrong. Oh, and she doesn't have  
fingerprints. Not even scars." Dumbledore frowned. "She wasn't raised  
in Germany either."  
  
"How...?"  
  
"Her sentence structure," the man waved vaguely, "it's all wrong. She  
talks formally, but it isn't your formally. Her word choice is too  
good for a non native speaker, but the structure of her speech says  
that she hasn't spoken the language in a long time."  
  
"How old is she?"  
  
"Older than me. Older than the world. Older than any world I know of.  
Older than humanity. Can I fight her?"  
  
"If you want. How can she be that old?"  
  
The demon laughed. "Time travel, I expect. She doesn't reek of magic  
like you people do. No, she carries a trace of it, which says she did  
use it, but that was ages ago. Two, three years, that won't be there.  
And she's not strictly alive."  
  
"How is that possible?"  
  
"Ask her," he advised, "she'll tell you in all likelyhood. She's not  
dead either. It's like her body's been put on hold, though that's not  
actually true. That isn't the body she was born with--hell, it could  
be the other gender. She weighs a lot too. I couldn't tell you how  
much, exactly, but I can tell you that I couldn't lift her."  
  
"You said you wouldn't look into her mind, why?"  
  
"Heh... her mind is vast. There are no faults in her memory.  
Everything is immediate, like it has been happening at every instant  
since she was born."  
  
"How can you tell?"  
  
"I took a small peek. The place I ended up in..." he looked vaguely  
unsettled, "It's not a place I would be in by choice. And she was  
laughing there. You call me a monster, a demon. You don't have _words_  
for what she is."  
  
"That is all, Kyaku. You may go. Try not to kill her."  
  
Manic laughter echoed as he sank into the wall again. "I," were his  
last, disturbing words, "don't think I can."  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0829, January 20._

della--Congrats. You not only sound like a mentally stunted, inbred  
child of a two dollar harlot, you have also managed to further my  
theory that anyone who uses the word retarded as an insult is not only  
illiterate, but a hormonally imbalanced angsting teenager. In addition  
I'm curious, if you believe that to be such, why bother jumping to the  
last chapter to review, if you did not read the entirety? If you did  
read, was there a deep, pressing need upon your psyche that you should  
mindlessly repeat insults beaten into the head of every teenager?  
  
Relle--oooh, I have a stalker! I feel so loved. Luna... well, it is  
explored. So, you smoke... and live in the UK... well, that narrows  
the list down to what, everyone there but Pope?  
  
imthaman--I'm going to do it. Sooner or later. I'm shamelessly lazy.  
  
babychaos--Yes, that Trigun. 


	20. Blood

**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_  
  
A/N: Woo-hoo. The big two-zero. Joy.  
  
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,  
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.  
  
**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore  
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,  
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male  
relationships, and definite female/female. Quite probable threesome  
relationship between any of the above.** Ye hast been warned. Should  
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on  
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter  
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option  
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users  
there.  
  
**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.  
  
Chapter Twenty:  
  
_????, ????. 1322, January 31._  
Raye's fingers twitched. They danced, absently playing an invisible  
piano, and occasionally impacting either the gun at her side or the  
knife buried in her left leg. She had chosen to do it spontaneously,  
and the look on her pupil's face had been priceless. The blade itself  
was not touching her leg, no, her clothes were indestructable. Instead  
the material of her pants was rammed deep, and the blade pinned by the  
pressure.  
  
The castle--she didn't understand the wizarding fetish with castles.  
They were impractical, isolated, and most of all, exposed. It would  
have been wiser, in her opinion, to take up residence in the middle of  
a crowded city, where the obedient wizards would be unable to attack--  
loomed to the east. It was a rather poor attempt at looming, she  
thought. Primarily because it was in the afternoon, and thus shadows  
were cast on the castle, not by it. Furthermore, it was in a state of  
perfect repair, and looked far more like a castle the knight in  
shining armor would return to, not attack--something Raye approved of.  
And finally, it was not lit with flickering torchlight. In fact, it  
was lit with _flourescent _lightbulbs.  
  
Unforgivable. There was no way such a travesty could loom over anything  
with half a brain.  
  
Raye's inverted eyes flicked toward Luna, who stood silently. It was  
beginning to annoy her, how despondant the girl was. She had only  
killed someone, and in no particularly traumatizing way. Her own first  
kill had been so much worse.  
  
She laughed. Better, technically. So much better.  
  
"Luna," she hissed, drawing the girl's attention, "we are going to  
enter at one thirty. The old monkey wants to make sure no one is going  
to escape, so he's having some of his put up wards." That was annoying  
her to no end. The old man thought she was going to do less than  
perfectly. And she couldn't play her game of seeing how long she could  
take and still exterminate everyone whilst they were inside the  
fortification. "In any case, you are to stay behind me. Observe,  
nothing more unless I explicitly tell you to. When I tell you to do  
something, you do it. Immediately. Are we clear?"  
  
She waited for the girl to nod before continuing. "You are not allowed  
to defend yourself. You are not allowed to attack anything. You are not  
allowed to talk. I do not care if Cthulhu himself is preparing to  
jump on you. You will be eaten if such is the case, do you understand?"  
  
Nod.  
  
Raye laughed manically. "Just to test you..." She tore the knife from  
her leg, "Carry this. Do not, under any circumstances, drop it. Do not  
use it. Do not allow it to be taken from you. If you die, I want to  
find you holding this. Do not bother nodding. If Cthulhu eats you, you  
carry this into his innards. You will, however, not allow it to harm  
him. Do you understand?"  
  
A nod.  
  
"I said not to nod!" And the weapon peirced the girl's arm.  
  
The dull throb drew Luna's attention, and she tilted her head curiously  
to look at it. Blood seeped from around the blade, which was yet  
immaculate, unstained. Of course, Raye had made it, so that was to be  
expected. Luna's brain switched into a loop, and her thoughts stuck for  
several minutes.  
  
"Time. We go in now."  
  
Luna was not thinking clearly as she started to follow, or at least she  
was not until Raye's hand struck the knife in her arm, driving the  
blade into her side. More blood leaked out, and when Luna at last  
pulled her arm away a brief gush splashed out.  
  
Raye halted, her head arched, eyelids fluttering, eyes rolled up in  
their sockets, mouth open slightly. Her hands convulsed, and with the  
unnatural speed that had saved her life all of once, one shot out and  
curled around the girl's bicep.  
  
"Fix it!" She snapped, turning her head to peer around her own arm. She  
didn't want to lust too early, that ruined the anticipation.  
  
"Fix it...?" Luna wondered dreamily.  
  
Then there was the sound of bones breaking, flesh ripping and burning,  
and something Luna could not quite put words to.  
  
Then the hand was gone from her arm--leaving a red mark that Luna knew  
wouldn't bruise--and there was sudden pressure against her side. Less  
than half a second passed, and then the pressure had...  
  
Not so much gone away, as reversed itself. It took Luna a full second  
To realize exactly what had happened, was happening, and then the arm  
that was not impaled latched onto Raye's in a futile attempt to remove  
it.  
  
"Focus!" She heard, and then lost the thought.  
  
An eternity passed, and then she was on the ground in the fetal  
position, panting heavily.  
  
"What...?" She asked softly.  
  
"You did it fast," Raye observed, "I didn't expect that. Thirty  
seconds. But then, I was telling you what to do."  
  
Luna remembered a voice that seemed to stretch for infinity, and almost  
asked if it was Raye. The thought of Raye's answer halted the words  
before they left her mouth.  
  
Raye hauled Luna to her feet without apparent effort. "Come on then."  
  
And Luna followed.  
_????, ????. 1329, January 31._  
  
_????, ????. 1322, January 31._  
Raye went in the front gate.  
  
Raye was not a particularly subtle person when killing large numbers of  
people. She had no particular love of stealth either. She was bred for  
war. She knew of only one Ange that had ever been made for assassination,  
and she had not liked that person.  
  
But then, she didn't need to be subtle.  
  
She destroyed the immense double doors with one blow. Destroyed was, in  
fact, not the right word. The force of the impact made them dissolve,  
or at least shatter into pieces invisible.  
  
The sole sentry on the other side looked vaguely surprised before she  
seperated the top half of his head from the rest of his body.  
  
Luna heard a strange sucking sound in the moment Raye carried the  
skull. Then it was gone, and she had crushed the head.  
  
An alarm went off, and Raye laughed. It was a sound of pure joy, that  
of a small child who yet has no real worries, made obscene only by the  
circumstances.  
  
The Action Express vaporized a man's head, and Luna took a moment to  
investigate the body.  
  
Nothing interesting, she thought, and then followed her mentor once  
more.  
  
Raye's arm wrapped around a man's neck--he had been foolishly  
bombarding her with spells until she was too close--and she pulled him  
in front of her, not so much to use as a shield as for convenience.  
  
A mouth opened on her throat, and it bit down on the man's spinal  
column, gorging itself on the blood and fluids within his body.  
  
He died in a flash of green light, and Raye howled with rage, the mouth  
in her neck sealing--flesh appearing full of burn scars for an instant.  
  
Then she was moving again. The wizards were still resisting, or at  
least the stupid ones were. The more intelligent ones were running, and  
those Raye considered the smartest--though in this case an undesirable  
quality--had either killed themselves or resigned to their fates.  
  
The magazine of fifty caliber magnum ran dry, and the slide locked into  
the open position. She promptly tossed it, and the ten inch barrel  
split a man's head not quite cleanly in two. A laceration spell struck  
the side of her face, and she laughed as it did nothing. She had fought  
for longer than these insignificant--yet the most important things in  
the world at the moment--beings could imagine, against weapons that  
moved the speed of light, and faster. She had dodged them, taken hits  
that would have killed a lesser being, and walked away.  
  
These spells could do nothing to her.  
  
Her eyes burned passionately, and the stupidest men slowly realized that  
they were against something beyond their imagination.  
  
Luna considered asking Raye if she knew her face was on fire. She  
decided against it, though not because she had remembered Raye's rule,  
something she wasn't quite sure the woman intended to be followed, but  
rather because she didn't want to spoil the woman's fun.  
  
Raye's tore half of a man's face off, and shivered with unimaginable  
pleasure at the memory of it being done to herself, and better.  
  
Raye couldn't remember how long she had been killing now. She yet  
remembered, however, the face of every person she had destroyed, as  
completely as she had seen them. Some were fragmented, though that was  
largely because she hadn't seen them before their death, and they had  
been none too whole afterward.  
  
The flesh of her arm parted, and she whipped it around, splashing the  
crimson fluid across the world. Stones hissed and melted beneath the  
heat and akali nature of the liquid.  
  
Human beings stood nowhere near an equal chance. One moment they were  
standing, whole, cursing...  
  
And the next they were quite holy men indeed.  
  
One mouth was not enough to express her happiness, and so she made more.  
_????, ????. 1420, January 31._  
  
_????, ????. 1430, January 31._  
There had been sounds for an hour, thought the prisoner. Laughter  
welled in her throat, and she gave it voice. It was born of histeria,  
she was panicking, and laughter was the only way she had to express  
the madness now.  
  
They were going to kill her at last! Free her from this hell! And now,  
now there was this interruption! And she was still alive!  
  
The thought, _agony in size nine shoes_, slid over her mind, and she  
laughed again.  
  
Then the door imploded, and she averted her eyes to protect them from  
any stray shards of wood. What in the world...?  
  
Then she looked back, and stared into the raging inferno that was the  
intruder's face.  
  
She screamed.  
  
"Ooou! What have we here?" Raye murmured.  
_????, ????. 1435, January 31._

Dntfckwifme--FFN deleted you? Those unscrupulous buggers! I did wonder  
what happened to your reviews. I feel so... loved. Are you salivating  
on me? St. Helens? Marks down on 'cities NOT to firebomb during  
world domination'. Raye's a freakin' lunatic. Problem being, she's a  
somewhat intelligent lunatic. Masochists (or at least submissives)  
running around in this: Raye, Kyaku, Luna(tic), Severus... Heh. On  
a side note, would ye prefer to be called Dntfckwifme or Relle during  
responses? On another note, what's your favorite Potter-slash pairing?  
I feel like writing something slashy, might as well make it a gift  
piece, neh? Mind, it'll be a one-shot.  
  
imthaman--It'll go up on my website, the link to which should be in my  
profile...


	21. Stil

**Stahl Nacht**

  
_by CrimsonNoble_

A/N: Dead, buried, necromancied. Or something.   
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,  
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.

**_WARNING: _This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore  
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,  
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male  
relationships, and definite female/female. Quite probable threesome  
relationship between any of the above.** Ye hast been warned. Should  
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on  
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter  
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option  
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users  
there.

**Spoilers:** OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.

Chapter Twenty-One:

_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UKNOWN!_  
"I collect women's ears in a bucket."

That was one of those statements that made Severus stop, stare, and  
wonder what the hell was going on.

"That's nice," Lie said. He was obviously not paying attention,  
focusing on the weapon in his hands. He might have thought it antique,  
had he not just constructed it himself. Severus might have thought it  
his-modern, had he not just suffered through the creation of it.

A magnetic ten-inch barrel was attached to a what might be termed a  
pistol grip, excepting the cord that ran from the item to his arm.  
Severus saw no obvious loading mechanism, but if his time trapped in  
this hell had taught him anything, it was that these _freaks_ did not  
need anything to be obvious. Things had an absurd tendency to just...  
happen while his mind was iced over in pain.

"The hell do you need that for?"

Lie looked up at the man, if he could be termed such. For some unknown  
reason, the name flashed across the vision he shared with Severus,  
along with a red line that tagged it to the man. Acti. Such an absurd  
name...

It fit.

The world tilted, and Lie sounded puzzled when he spoke. "I want it...  
Why else?"

"You're just going to... carry it?" Acti was tall. This was undeniable,  
he was taller sitting down than Lie was standing up. His skin was a  
peculiar purple, and his eyes a glowing yellow. And he had six irises  
for his seven pupils in each eye. The sight was... disconcerting.

"No," Lie said. "Are you being dense on purpose?"

Lie pressed the magnetic barrel to the flesh of his right forearm, if  
it could still be called flesh. Severus wasn't sure. Then there was  
pain. Some sort of crackling sound ensued, and Lie's ecstatic laughter  
wrapped around Severus-a comforting, agonzing, warm blanket.

Then it was gone. The pain and the weapon. So-they were gone.

With a sizzle-snap, Lie's wrist locked back. His hand went up, Severus  
winced as something pulled within the arm, and a polycarbon bottle  
exploded.

_Sizzle-snap,_ Severus laughed. _It all goes back._

Acti's oversized left arm reached out to where the remains of the  
bottle rested and picked one up. He turned his head and the six outer  
pupils rotated, the perimeter they formed contracting as he focused.   
"It's a solid projectile?"

"Yep," Lie responded proudly.

"All due respect, it's been tried before."

"Yeah..." Lie drawled, "But to call me normal would be a misnomer. Of  
sorts."

_Inkfish!_ Severus cheered.

"Raye..."

"Ja?" Lie responded.

"You're an idiot."

"To call me an Ange would not be a misnomer. To call you suicidal  
would not be either."

"Ah."

_Monkey nuts,_ Severus swore.  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_

-

_Raye's Loft, London. 0422, February 2._  
Raye considered the wand on the table. She did not like that wand. For  
one, it was made of holly, and anything with a name with 'hol' in it  
she innately distrusted. Holidays included. For another, it had the  
tail feather of a pheonix in it. Pheonix were weaklings, they bothered  
dying before rebirth.

She went on cracking her knuckles.

It would do to break the wand, but then she couldn't use it later.  
One thing she had been taught-keep the doors open or burn them down.  
Plus there was the off-chance that the wand would be repaired. It was  
possible, for a good smith, but unlikely as Potter was... 'dead'.

And on the subject of dead people... the guest in her room was  
screaming again. Again! How dare she? It was only a finger!

Another lesson-do not leave choices unmade. Delaying on making  
choices was not making a choice, it was stupidity. If there was one  
thing Raye was not, it would be compassionate. However, somewhere in  
the top twenty five things she was not list there was stupid.

"No regrets," she said. Then she lifted the wand to her lips and  
slowly slid it down her throat.

Her eyes remained shut for several seconds. It was a long time by her  
standards. They opened, and nothing had changed.  
_Raye's Loft, London. 0423, February 2._

-

_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_  
"Stop that," Lie ordered. His (technically, at the moment, her) hand  
touched her temple in frustration. Or possibly an imitation of it.  
Sometimes it was hard to tell, Severus being inside the body but not  
privy to it's thoughts.

"Why?" The younger of the two whined.

"There is a certain style in being an Ange. You are one of the sixteen  
greatest badasses in the universe. Most of that title comes from the  
brutal efficiency of our work. Or our art with it. Or our reasons."  
Severus remembered this speech. It was not, as might be expected, from  
Cais. No, it was from Euri, shortly before his timely demise at Lie's  
hands. Less than what Severus called a year ago.

Not that days were twenty-four hours for Lie and his kin.

"So... what?"

It was at that phrase, after some measure of time, Severus realized:  
It was not English being spoken. He was a spy. He was not supposed  
to miss things. This was... awkward.

"So why the hell are you doing what I tell you to?"

"Because..." the girl paused for thought, "You're my teacher?"

Wasn't this one of those things they screend for? Severus wondered,  
echoing Lie's thoughts. The world moved, and the girl was abruptly  
much closer to Lie's face.

A moment later, she had no lungs. "Wrong answer."

Then, with no intervening time, a hand was in Lie's mouth, and there  
was something very, very hot in it. Lie being Lie, she bit down.

Hard. Her student being her student, it didn't really work well.

Then the ball of plasma Stil was shoving down Lie's throat exploded.

Nothing happened.

"Nice one," Lie acknowledged, after removing the hand from her throat.  
Her neon orange hair sifted in front of her face.

"Not so bad yeself," Stil replied. Her silver-blue hair floated in a  
non-existent breeze.

Then a living wall of silver engulfed her, and Severus' screams drove  
his world white.  
_UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!_

-

_Raye's Loft, London. 0902, February 2._  
"Hello...?"

"Hmm?"

Raye looked up from her work, eyes focusing slowly on the intruder.  
Her hands kept working. She manipulated the metal with brute force,  
as she always did. Not because it was easier (it wasn't), or because  
she liked it better (she did), but rather because she didn't feel like  
tempering. At the moment.

"What's she doing?"

"Who?"

"Her," and the girl pointed.

Raye opened another eye. "Oh. Griping about her finger."

"Griping?" Luna asked. She stared at the woman chained to the corner.  
She was indeed missing a finger. The ring finger of her left hand.   
Actually, she looked pained. There were many subtle hints about this,  
but first and foremost was the fact that her eyes did not focus, and  
she was drooling.

"Ja."

"Oh. Who is she?"

Raye paused. Her hands even stopped twisting the metal. She thought.  
Then she reached out, poked her finger at the stub of a knuckle, and  
lapped at her finger.

Huh, she thought. Like Stil.

"Narcissa Malfoy," she said.

"Oh."

Raye cocked her head to a scream. It said many things, but very few  
were important.

Wonder if she knows?

"What did you need?" Raye resumed twisting the metal to suit her  
purposes.

After a moment's thought, Luna said, "Prof Dumbledore wishes to see  
you."

"Ah."

Luna waited. "Coming?"

Raye considered what she had so far molded. A thoughtful noise, and,  
"Ja." She tossed the metal lump at the woman in the corner and heard a  
dull crunch. Toe, probably.  
_Raye's Loft, London. 0922, February 2._

-

_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 1303, February 2._  
"I hate floo powder."

Luna stared over Raye's shoulder. "We didn't come by floo powder."

"No," Raye agreed, "we didn't."

She tastes like Stil too, she thought.

She liked blood. Not because she was a psychopath, not because she  
liked the color more than any other, and not because it was something  
she'd seen for years and years and...

Was there a time she hadn't seen it?

She liked it because it told so much about a person. Their ancestry,  
if one knew how to read it. Their disease, if they had one. Where they  
lived, thicker the higher in altitude, and flavored from food. Many  
things.

"Who are you?"

Moody. Looking at Luna.

Raye wondered just how deep he could see. If he could see through  
her...

She shivered somewhere inside.

That'd just be -fun-.

"Stifle, Moody."

Magical eye fixed suspiciously-pervertedly-on Luna, Alastor turned  
to face Raye. "Where's Tonks?"

Raye paused in thought. She blinked sharply, then swept the room with  
her gaze. "Ministry," she said. "In a holding cell."

"She's in a holding cell?"

"Ja." Raye continued staring at the wall. "She's escorting a pris'ner."

Moody thought it peculiar that she was, in fact, looking toward the  
Ministry. Luna didn't know, and didn't care.

"Oh. What are you doing?"

Raye made an obscene gesture that he didn't understand. Her fingers  
twirled through the Auror finger-speech. Moody did not twitch an  
eyebrow at her insults directed toward his parentage, fashion choice,  
career choice, and sexual habits. "Albus-Dumbledore called," she said.

"Get on with it then."

Sizzle-snap-bam, and Moody lost the lobe of his remaining ear.

"Aye-aye, capitain."

The man poked a gnarled finger at his ear. It came away red.

"Damn," he swore.

Things... degenerated.  
_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 1308, February 2._

-

ReginaLucifer-I don't like romance. I don't like love. I like people  
fucking other people over in a thousand different ways. Kill d'love!

Relle-I have a fangirl! Yay! . Collar? Kinky. Glad ye didst like  
Frenzied Feeding. I can, however, see Malfoy shouting, "Gomen my asking!"  
Which is really an on-crack image. OO. Luna's mind grinds slowly,  
but it grinds fine.

Deathyscythe Custom-Harry's all over. Harry is Raye. There's really no  
difference. He just hates being beatified (made out to be a saint).

LadyM-Danke.

Crrot-Raye dedicates lots of death, and strong opponents to Loki. And she  
does it after the fact (as why she is not seen doing such in the castle-  
razing scene). Snape will relive everything, but there's a basic problem  
because of which he can't become an Ange. Namely, he hasn't been destroyed.

Crrot 6-New screen name? Ah, yes, it was a brainstorm of a vacation.  
However, some of this was for my original stories which are not published  
online. And I drew a lot. 


End file.
